for each alone of everyone who knows my name as nothing less than Papa
At Least of Love
for each alone of everyone who knows my name as nothing less than Papa
Not a chain of bondage but of being
The uttermost we are and nothing less
Nothing to see but some way of seeing
As we are perfected by nothingness
We insist to be if imperfectly
If blood can curse then blood may also bless
This is my blood but this is your blood too
Unusual I know but family
Resemblances never kept from showing
I know I know nothing is what I say
(As all of you can tell from what I do)
Yet I gather that in a family way
Gathering becomes a way of knowing
Pregnant with the possibilities of
If not of faith nor hope at least of love
This book represents a thirty-day period of my poetry journal. Each poem addresses
the dominant thoughts occupying my mind during the early morning hours of a given
day.
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