K. Cronick
Liberty isn´t
cynical,
but like a
wide-winged bird
that
sweeps across the sky
it sometimes
hides,
mischievously
and whimsical.
Its shadow
coils,
and we
cease to care.
And suddenly,
we see
in the rosy
clouds
at sunset,
the
twisted, scary face
of revolutionary
Robespierre.
But after
that,
when -nobody
knows
the rules
or why-
suddenly,
over the
seas to Skye,
over the
waves
to
Normandy,
over the bridge
from Selma
to Montgomery,
is born a
deed as though on cue,
and renewed
truths
become -again-
self-evident.
Everyone
votes.
Over our
grandfathers’ shoulders
we climb
the mountains
like Himalayan goats we go,
together
and singly,
and
suddenly we say:
“no”.
