Sunrise From A Hole Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Afternoon's sepia
has drowned in the beams
of hazel wood
trailing the snail steps of ash.

The beach is foggy
and fossil with folks drenched
in wet clouds,

a slate dusk dimming
into an amber,
as late evening flies its flags
to swallow ribbons of light.

(ii)

The beach is smoky
with folks sobbing and bawling
out they lost
every quarter and dime

burnt and melted
into a slot spinning storm waves
to rip brittle bowls
of mind into leaking pockets,

leaving dry hairy ashes,
after feathers of fortune
have dived out

into the mouths of pendulums
ticking to swing off
fruits from withered
twigs and leaves catching little light.

(iii)

In a night fast rolling
along a beach line,
I cross strolling men
gulping down clouds of gambling
with sighs weaving
snakes to crawl out of their chats.

But I bump into a quiet dude
under a moon-lit night
spraying sun and beads of sun
to hang on his neck
with the spinels of a loud garland.

Wait for me little bird,
but saying little he dribbles past
angles under shadows,
as he sneak off into a hole I cannot see,

but I hear sunshine's far-flung
squeaks and chuckles
from a bank's deep hole
late evening having hatched chicks.