Boundaries are exploding.
Lines once drawn disappear
in a hail of wind.
The sand is alive and talking
telling a tale of triumphant woe.
There is, or was, a wall
where I once pressed my forehead
against an unforgiving book written
in the script of heaven's rage.
Now in a temple, in a city, on the hill
a new history is foreseen and written by martyrs.
There are new psalms to sing and
mountains to climb, seas to part,
valleys to walk through
where shadows fall away
and the land is full of promise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem