even a just God
won’t claim the fields he planted
when the grape grows wild
voices of the oppressed cry
one nation under God, not
even a just God
won’t claim the fields he planted
when the grape grows wild
voices of the oppressed cry
one nation under God, not

Moon through your window
same as the one I’m seeing
beaming with Lover’s joy

how does one explain
when all share the same space – yet
some die and some thrive

red paper lanterns
I walk the fields of my youth
harvest moon again

water standing still
presents a perfect mirror
to pause and reflect