Zion Poem by James Andrews
Zion
I stop the car behind the church.
Hear the fan, my ticking engine cooling
Comforts, fills the alternate of silence.
I stand before you all
And listen for the calls of birds.
My body aches.
I bend with more resistance
Than I did the year before.
With small, slight moves
I brush the stones and branches
From your faces.
The sun makes rivers of my hands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/3/2026 8:11:33 PM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
