The Ritual Of A Summer-Time-Line Poem by Buxton Shippy

Every time I see your face
Feelings,
Stir me to embrace
A Summer-time-line.
In this place,
They skip and twirl
For a muted audience,
Fixed,
In a venomous world.

Children,
Wet from attention,
Smile.
The spirits of the players
In this time
Performed for ancestors,
Clapped, stared, jumped,
Spun in the air
In this ritual
Of a Summer-time-line.

Drummers,
Not ordinary,
Foamed at the mouth
Glared
Through pupils set in blood
Talked to bungo-drums.
Tonight,
The Sanctuary comes down;
For in a Summer-time-line
God rejoice.