(for M. Balamane)
April 18, 2006
You glide unthinkably
A green end to a dark river
You are the purpose that rain tastes this sweet
You are my echo when I was the voice of sickness
You are my mirror when I’ve fallen for illusions
You are my pride caught raw in the dry web of humanity.
And I am the land of shadow dragging feet over the infinite body of black shadow
The amber eyelids turned to fire
In the silence of tongues inside the openness of throats
I am the song of the birds
Passing over the permanence of the blue water
I am the injustice sacrificed by the sun god of time
The crown of grass and stone
Pieced together from the orange blossom field
Left by another’s field of lamenting shadow.
I am gold with rhythm
Fragrant with the empty images that lift the air
Into a fruit bed of dripping composition
Broken, fuming with loss but still smiling
The river of faith
Drumming the turquoise babble of pebbles
Hidden beneath the ongoing flow.
Roads are at the mercy of songless, moonless eyes
Turned to chains, as blank as jasmine on the highway
Granite brushing them beneath the copper streets.
Alone in their rooms are enough pain to unarm pain
Tell me the tale of your life
And I will remember mine.