this talk of balconies
makes some think of
lovers knitting dreams
with desires and hopes
and for others
it speaks of that preemptive strike against life
a layman calls suicide
and for others still
it becomes a stage where one can meet heavens eye to eye
and not wonder why we are here
maybe Memphis
that crisp morning many years ago
was fated to spur such speech
maybe Memphis
was meant to be the balcony of a history
that demanded this country move forward
even if the dreamers had to die
to remind us
that mountaintops can never be reached
without the sacrifice of a noble heart
maybe Martin
you thought of this
as you saw the horizon sink
while hate's penultimate word
cut corpuscles and cotton
could you have known all that time
that a bullet that presumes to extinguish peace
leaves only room for echoes
that grow louder with years
that can't be silenced by inaction
maybe Memphis
your predecessor warned you that morning
as it sat empty of riches and pride
along the blue of the Nile
that we are destined to be the craftsmen of a future
all can partake in
maybe the Lorraine
was meant to be the beginnings
of a graveyard where hate is meant to dwell
with a stone to mark its shame
maybe balconies and destinies
are meant to be married at the outset of spring
so that the death of dreamers
gives birth to those who will awaken those still sleeping
