I see smoke each time I look in the mirror
Perhaps this is God’s way of keeping me safe
He knows I’m tired of seeing dead birds in rusting cages.
Last night, I called the wind and asked
How she taught the dove to fly
‘the sky is a map if you know how to look’
And I looked at my skin,
marked the places I cannot love.
There are mountains in spots I want rivers to flow
Scriptures buried on the ground where trees grow
I guess my skin is a map,
There are stars hanging and the moon is painting constellations
Someday, I’ll find my way through.