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nights bring the sound
of hands passing slowly
pull me back ’round
to the place I belong

small and remembered
for voices I’m keeping
in the silent impressions
of love I have known

filling the spaces
as my heart is split open
and names
one by one –
are repeated in time

for those never far
left behind –
in the scatter
stories unspoken
find their freedom
in mine

to sit with me now
as another dawn glistens
from knees to the cross
not forsaken –
their souls

stirring in grace
gentle hands fold together –
as sorrow finds beauty
in the voices
I hold

“While there is a lower class, I am in it; while there is a criminal
element, I am of it; while there is a soul in prision,
I am not free.” ~ Eugene V Debs