You paint the prettiest pictures with your gaze just like I’d imagine the hills think of the trees that scatter their faces in the mid-summer breeze. Do you hear the city bells calling out for help like I do? If you’re like me, the sound of the freeway and the noisy banter from the bars at night speak to you and say, “We are getting nowhere fast.” Is there also a place inside of you that sends birds into flight and frees horses and lions and smiles back at the poor?
I think of you so often and I don’t even know your name. I see myself in you. Maybe I’m more you than anything else. I hear my eager longing for justice in the way you speak to total strangers. When you talk to others you spring the fullness of life into being within them as if you know we were all made for so much more. I keep trying to write the right song or pray the right prayer so that you’ll become real, but I’m so small and the more I try to do such a big thing, the closer I come to seeing my humanity in the face of God.
You don’t remember me, but we met in a place far from here on a sunday and you told me to remind you of the way we don’t see faces in our dreams.