We are all of us a milieu
Of millions strung together
Brought as we were from everywhere
Else on the Earth. Torn from fields
And sold in cities. Or tempted
Out of our ancient places
By Golden Gates and gold,
Forty acres and a mule,
Or more often by the golden promise
Of life on our own terms.
We are all of us a patchwork
Held delicately but willfully by young
Thread; not rope or chains,
But a tenuous thread which at times is pulled
So tightly it sings.
We are all of us contained
But just barely. Wild and free as we are
We are all of us bound with this thin thread,
Knit together by the common pattern
Of hopeful living.
We are all of us together
Only slightly contained
A quarter inch on one side from self destruction
And on the other side maybe
A half inch from God.
