Old tobacco barns and fields of dust Stories about how life used to be Before they put the highway through the farm I used to sit in that old white steeple church That Enoch’s hands built and contemplate praying When I still believed god was worth believing in Even though I’m two thousand miles from that place It still sits inside of me like a mountain on the horizon Serving as a navigation marker for where home is Whenever I need to go back to ancestral ground For answers about who I am and who I want to be Because the waters of the Chesapeake run deep Carrying my consciousness on the moon tides On gentle waves back to the core of my existence No matter how far I drift from home or myself
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Musing & Creating with T.J.S. Sherman 