for my friend wayne

sweeping clean with the black book
his parents kept house
funneling their ancestry of faith
the truth
as twisted as the wind
they carried it with them

so in his back pocket he carried his heart
until he had his own house to sweep
footprint on the unread black cover
stepstool to reach the window for a clearer view
he stood higher to see what he carried within him

footprints left the book behind
left behind the fire of the father and the mother
and passed up halls and preachers, past the prayers and the structure
to catch the wind of his own truth

awakening what he carries in his bones
putting his heart back in it’s rightful place
carried within

his own name for it
no tall tale, just Love

he carries it with him

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