Poetry sits 

I wish people knew that God doesn’t come to me and demand my focus, the idea of spiritual change is disheartening and difficult, and my heart sometimes thinks itself more religious than my brain. 

I wish for faith like the poor wish for coin and the hungry for grain. 

I wish they knew nothing is promised and we sweep each other to the side, and we write to fill the spaces left in the streets, and that poetry sits at the dining table with influence and insolence and images of what we see and what we wish to see.

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