most days, during some mid-day hour, / I close my eyes and say the Sh’ma. / But it’s always the wrong time of day, / and it’s the only prayer I know

I’m not sure anymore / how far joy gets us

a presenter / interrupts a program to break the news of migrants / found dead on the shores of river niger. i look down / the streets through my window.

My life too has ended
many times over. Now I’m
doing all I can to return

even the long-gone
once knew tenderness.

it’s happening / again. everything / outside me / get to switching  / channels. brown black / carbon black / black cat black

shouting / the same words but in different languages

there is nothing but performance; the language that stretches to capture us all

I begin to feel my body rise / and I can believe / in what freedom must feel like.