ISSUE: Winter 2002
It was hope,
but it was black hope,
and it made me sing this song.
It was hope,
but it was black hope,
and it made me sing this song.
Through the nights of your terrible leave-taking,
your wild, unquenchable cells,
through the days and ways of my not knowing
how to help
at all,
it was hope
but it felt just like no hope.
Then it made me sing this song.
