Can we start over,
with my head bent low
and my knees bent lower,
my eyes evading your pain hung high
in case it engulfs my own?
Can we start here,
with my feet on the ground,
my toes rooted in the dirt
and my face turned toward the sun?
Can we start
whether or not the sun will rise,
or the air bend with the Spirit who exhales life;
whether this day, or one day
when the stars align, though my way is crooked,
and the time is ripe, though my heart went over;
and will you welcome me home?