Angle Of Evening Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

A settling melting sun
shoots off a ball of fire

through an ash
of galloping dusk,
a sleepy red eye bleeding

with a red hibiscus beam
carrying smoldering coals
through a tunnel
of night flanked by trees
and locks of grasses

sun-beaconed pyramids
floating with bobbing
palm tree leaves
under a cloud's shredded tail.

The angle of an evening
has been set ablaze,
a flame roaring through
a gold corridor of a sprinting forest.

Dark floating blankets
tug down a billowing hat
on palm trees bowing
to breezes whispering amid
flutes from a racing gale.

(ii)

How many trips of sand
have been dumped
by waves raking and scooping

to shore layers from a riverbed
deep in a cave as old
as the land's earthenware

sinking to rise back
with a trout
in its tree bark coat

lighting up a fisherman's
face with beams thicker
than a pulling arm
of a night rolling on

like a heavy log of timber
towing a river
into a night's forest
of leafy stemmy clouds

shedding gray specks
scrolled in by a the twittering

song of a bird grinding
beach sand into
the sooty powder of its nest.