I’m coming. Down out of the clouds
into the rain. I hope I’m coming straight
and clear. I hope I’m falling on holy ground,
That the people catching me are sure and loving.
I hope the people bringing me to earth
have said their evening prayers and their morning
prayers, because where I’m coming from
is made of prayers and leaves. Silk spun from mulberry is fine
but where I’m coming from is finer still.
You know those gospel singers with notes so bright
they drop, note by note, into your body?
That’s how I’m singing down into a woman
dressed in gauzy skirts next to a man whistling
to hold up. I’m the one calling down the lullabies.
I’m yours. I am your DNA gone wild with love,
I am the split second the angels take
to connect us to God, my spine the ladder
up and back.
My feet haven’t yet touched down
so learn the old songs for me
because I’ll come out dazed and start forgetting.
My eyes will gaze at you and I’ll lose
my angel sense. Sing me to ease
With an anthem from my dazzling alma mater.