Just when did you, all elegance
and fine fears, first discover
the divine in all of us, who serve?
As the story has it, we were lost
in wandering; we were as that
great ellipse, that heart of the oval
a child might mis-spell: slavery.
Snakes in the grass: we craved respect
and certainty; you offered the certainty
of our own respect — for you!
(What a coup!) We drank it in.
I think of divinity often, without
those flashing spokes or power
of tall steeds, a coach who takes us
to the good, one who leads us
through the valley, one who wants
for us a better that we had not
visionised ourselves, or not clearly.
And so, yours be the power, the glory
of a pennant, an entry in the annals,
a locus of draftees and thirsty draughts,
an epiphany of your leadership.
I have risen me by now,
lifted me and look now down on clouds
that have parted to let us pass,
then regrouped and obscured that path
from our origin ad astartes.
When I started, you called me a yeast
of the workplace. Our people would
pass into majesty; that would be
our rising, and yours. Your Columbia,
your greatness, could rest assured.
I arise now, and leave that place,
and wander me, as you ascend
in the esteem of posterity, wishing
you only well: ‘I wish you well.’