What Belongs? A spoken-word poem by James Navé

What Belongs? A spoken-word poem by James Navé At the end of the day, cats sing in red hills. Capture what belongs. Electricity came and went in those mad, mad days, all those years ago, when girls and boys found their way. What belongs?  What belongs?   Bill and Tinker belong—somewhere in a story, somewhere beyond where I am right now. And I belong, and you belong. Once in a coin-operated laundry, I saw someone I knew. She was the piano player in my church long ago. She looked sad there among the dryers and the washers. Night belongs to those who wander; jazz returns: my thoughts return:  I once lost $50 to a grifter who told me his children were hungry, and I fell for it. Who belongs? Do not hide your eyes. Kiss bamboo and fall in love with ice, and cracks in the factory walls, and old stories and teacups and sunsets and novels and summer-lies and blackbirds flying above the sea.  Give me a few more minutes to live. That's all I want, just a few more minutes to live. To belong in some story, my story is your story. Listen, do you hear the last wind sing the last song? I've touched my lips before. When I touch my lips, I speak the language of mountains, fire, water, and air.    Capture what belongs.  Clouds know what I mean? What belongs becomes what I know, and what I know becomes what the birds know. And what the birds know becomes what we all know.