The Unimagined Country

Yet-to-be-fully-imagined
country we all want to live in,

country of peace groves
full of lemon trees, country

where we let
our own blood

into the garden soil
to feed it, where we all sing

in our own tongues in the front yards
and kneel silently in the back yards

under the open sky, seeking
guidance or a little rain; country

yet to be founded,
already rich and storied,

abandoned, rediscovered,
abandoned again and again;

country, not nation, not state;
homeland, not seat of empire.

Country yet to be ours, country
we’ll have to define — a country we’ll all 

agree to defend against the poisons
of borders, flags, anthems, suspicions.

When we come to that country
we’ll look into each other’s eyes

and we’ll know what to name it 
without hearing a single campaign speech.

We’ll know how to run it
without a single task force.

We’ll know how to love it
without a single weapon.

We’ll know we’ve truly settled there
when we look into each other’s eyes

and see a neighbor, a cousin,
or a self, no matter what else we see.