Bayard Rustin

Blueprint in smoke
chalk lines drawn where feet must fall
a quiet trigonometry of bodies
moving toward an axis of light
he held the compass in a room of folding chairs
not the loud thunder at the marble steps
the iron wire woven beneath the floorboards
the timetable the chartered train
the refusal to strike back
quaker silence vibrating at the pitch of a siren
an open secret folded into four clean squares
the architect erased from the cornerstone
for loving with an unredacted pulse
they demanded the sermon
he mapped the mechanics of the miracle
ten thousand buses and cardboard signs
the unyielding geometry of dignity
in the dark wings of the republic
a glowing spark between ink stained fingers
he tuned the engine and let others take the morning light