I wonder sometimes about the beginning,
how a river makes do with what it has,
persevering with time and place,
steadfast in its claim to send new water downstream.
I try to understand why the house-finch
has a few harsh notes amid her fluid song
then I remember about injustice
and her song becomes a rallying cry.
I once saw a man who crawled on hands and knees
propelling his small frame forward
believing that what lay ahead held promise
and was worth the perilous journey.
I envision a place where river, man and finches
can sing their proclamation with one voice raised
forever eloquent and clear,
a mother tongue, echoing
in one long rivulet of song.
J. Sinanan, September 2005