I have not known Shams or oil wells in my living room.
No inheritance, nor near death experiences.
My blood is mixed
and I am broke in some places.
I have so much confusion I can’t find words.
Things to be ashamed of? Or Light Houses on my way?
Honestly, I can’t tell you the difference.
But I walk up a street everyday. The same street. Uphill.
I have a house on this street that I paid for with useful ideas.
In the front yard there is buried a Hummingbird
that I found on the city curb
where I parked my car
on the way to dinner
with a friend who loves me.
The bird reminds me that Joy is worth dying for.
And that in my house there is so very much to worship:
A world of light and determination in the form of a boy with my smile —
makes me wonder why I ever want more than what I’ve got:
a universe on a sidewalk,
an empire of generous questions,
a life that Hummingbirds and the homeless can feast upon.