I know you see it.
all the men you thought “unbroke” themselves are leaving and
I'm pro’ly gon leave now, too, I know you thinking,
with deep, familiar scars, barks, backpacks, bars
climbed through your screens, seams, speakers, spoke to you
intimately, kissed your insecurities in ways that felt wild and loud, and ok, I know
example is a God, and we are missing so many of ours.
and I can't promise you no god, but I've met you before
can't promise another side, yet you’ve been there before
can say I’ve seen a heaven that has always been yours, and
Yesterday, and Dawn, and Always
are etched beneath chests of Black men fearing their own calling
for too many have been called gone.
and I can’t tell you your calling, but you’ve felt it before. I saw you on heaven’s block,
your next life clocked at the door
asked, where you going? your response, to give more.
and Yesterday and Dawn and Forever are etched
on the jaws of many men
whose deliberate tongues turn [anguish] into anthems, heartbeat
djembes drowning out the cancers. whole crowd
gathers to bathe inside your answers, but
very few listen, few follow intuition, and the drum
briefly numbs to the crowd of off-beat dancers, til the spinning spins again, everything
sings in sin, for the sky to sever itself for a savior,
unseen, slandered, serving up its body for the body
a love who breaks itself to challenge its surrenders.
and, someday, you’ll awaken inside
your own prayer.
and someday, one day, soon, We will all go there.