Listen to Her, for
She is always speaking
Straining against these lines
drawn and quartered
tattooed on aging maps
Her’s is not the type to be fixed
divided amongst quarreling siblings
every strike between us a
hole in her heart
and a purest tear
rolling up through the limestone
Talk to Her, for
She is always listening
sing with the wind and the rustle of leaves
with the doves nested in olive branches
raise your voice with her together
and if you must sing alone,
sing for us all
let your gentle words wrap silk around Her body
and crown Her with the light that formed the stars
If you sleep, let
Her wake you
with the whisper of sunrise and the glow of tomorrow
with the calls of the merchants and the
fruit of her alleys
with the mending of garments and the painting of houses
with the breath of the prophets and the
thrones of true justice,
the thrones of the House of David
And if you lose your way, remember only
to love Her,
for she has never stopped loving
you
