Umber Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

The umbrette
bird flaps
dusk's wings
to close in

with a thicker
evening
by the river
flanked

by shrubby trees
attired in an
umber
night still
shifting in with soot.

O hamerkop,
draw in a pitch
night to roll

fast wheels
into dawn's
tree stretching

an ape arm
of the tree
in a racing gale

to cut through
crow tails
and onyx screens

reaching
an onyx door
to open into
a trailed moonlight.


(ii)

Every dropping
leaf in the wind
rips a piece
of sky to jump

onto earth's
floor cut off
from drifting

falling hands
of light

hovering
in thin feathers
and cotton

ovals of clouds
and speckles
of dawn, as it inches
in closer

to another dusk,
as morning rumbles
with umber
shadow clouds

wearing carob
plastic jackets
to fight against
a rainstorm.

But it's too late
to stop
the lace streaks
flipping off

mantis limbs
of water,
as they race
to the heels
of morning light

hanging behind
a horizon
drunk with a dark
umber mist.

O hamerkop,
flap your dusk
umber
wings of morning

to burn faster
into bleached
ashes
and a powdered

daylight
to etch out
your carob

thickening silhouette
sticking out
from wooden air
by Kavango River.