I stand on the shoulders
of my ancestors,
and count.

I rise from the dreams
of their miracles,
and count.

I push through the power of conductors
of magic, winds of change,
determination of Spirit,
and count.

I wade the deep rivers
and move beyond mountains
smaller than passages crossed,
split through middles,
and count.

I call the unborn,
from future wombs,
the liberation
from the low vibrations
that breed separation
and contempt,
and I rise
despite their fear,
and count.

. . . and count

Pushed against each sacred vote,
I call those who gave their lives,
whose blood forged a country
without the decency of thanks,
who lifted democracy on their backs
and gave birth to it
from the likes of Georgia,
and Pennsylvania,
and Arizona,
and Nevada,
and military,
and every single ballot,
and roads,
hearts,
and souls
that can no longer
hide the truth
of our shame
but also the power
of our potential,
and
I

count.