when love comes, we sit and sigh
wanders to and fro
on the proscenium of the mind
slowly unbidden joy-drops fill our eyes
...
before the drought
there was a long season of rain
slashing leaves like doubly drums
like tin and shingles beating
...
she sends me news of bushfires with the rain
falling, not falling, and the pain of the old man
in the cold, biting hamarttan
she speaks of births and deaths on village lanes
...
she sends me news of bushfires with the rain
falling, not falling, and the pain of the old man
in the cold, biting hamarttan
she speaks of births and deaths on village lanes
...
if loving her unthinkable things happen
like we see in Harlem then living
in Harlem unthinkable things
could happen in the backyard of love
...
dark and silent grave
that keeps in trust the dust
gathered on the sharecropper’s farm
as the last days of August disappeared
...
I’m not yours to be lost
like candle in the wind
like salt in a cabbage stew
I’m delightfully not yours
...
Dear Father In-Law,
if I should wish for something today,
it will be within this little verse I relay to you,
to come home every hour to the woman I treasure
...
not too long ago
my dreams spread wings
sat upon the seat of a heart’s throne
that was long before the plane crash
...
I saw the moonlight coming out in the dark
and remembered the crickets at home
I cuddled my soul with joy at the moon
...