We
dream in Swahili to speak of Kalunga adrift a Day
Star.
Ours is immortal an African root spread from
Spain
to Asia. We dash from city to soul ever a mystic
tour;
but length is so gray, a fancy unborn, yearning
manifestation.
Ever
so sore to tackle even wrestle gates buried deep
an
Egyptian soul, a pier of psychic particles
where
underground sphinxes flicker for flame. I
soar
that moment eye to heart a lion for wings part
eagle
for human. It was everso hectic a beauty
wrought
in misery ever to grip glory. We flew for
Mars
to possess a window where love grew limbs
apace
to reach diamond brows. I held for hell to heal
for
heaven; for love sought a soul burdened by such
as
grains her very soul.
We
part for England a test rooted in trust to carry a
broken
heart; for pieces are strewn to rivers alert to
parts
adrift. We’re whole for but a moment where minds
are
saturated to grieve for absence. There’s a need
aboard
a flight where mountains crumble to portraits.
I
feel for name to cringe for tears ever to long a
stormed
goodbye.
