Centuries ago...

...we pressed together,

Shoulder to shoulder
And ran the rivers of diaspora,
When the inquisition
Came to Spain.

And from pogroms of pain,
My Tuscan soul, Iberian heart,
Knew not the wet
Of tears from rain,

For as fearful lovers,
We ran the rivers
To the Mediterranean,

Yet bid goodbye,
Your fathers
To the coasts of Africa,
And mine to Corsica

Where brilliant white,
The Trumpeter Swan,
Against the bluest sky,
Called out to Abraham
And freedom's cry
And promised us
We'd meet again,

If only hundreds of years
Of wingbeats and heartbeats later,
When the kismet birds of destiny,
Circle with the Trumpeter,
Windswept, above the clouds,
And in the heavens of Seattle.