Darkening / Freeport
behind the house / a pond, and then forest.
At dusk, the sun would fall and mark itself
against the silhouettes of trees, a red dot,
a pandemonium of parrots
screaming, the ground teeming with crawling life,
the agouti peering through the green blades.
Under this darkening sky I roll out
an ocean of cares, each worry cresting
a wave above the gentle grass. Douens
split the shadows in backfooted silence
their cherubic bodies dance a limbo
under darting bats, dragonish cayman
lie at the pond’s rim, their ancient jaws
agape in the rising moon’s sombre light.
Redemption 2. Writing Walter
We wrote our names in the sand but waves
washed them away. At some point, we all want
to be known. As you were – a prophet, brave
a symbol of freedom – but you were slave
to your own calling, a life sacrosanct
leaves you sewn to us as martyr in grave.
How that car became a tomb, the blast waves
washed you away. I watch your image haunt
yellow videos, your eyes form a maze
of the crowd. Are you searching for courage?
You are just a man standing on platforms
talking freedom. What use to us are brave
souls? Here and home were not always the same
thing, you knew that the struggle was not born
with you and that it would not end in graves.
What does life look like when consumed by flame?
Inside, the bomb made a fiery storm.
I wrote your name in the sand but the waves
washed it away.
It is like the matted moss that creeps
on the slatish rock, half buried in dense sand,
licked by the lapping sea.
You wash our daughter in the waters,
wise of the ways the sea can be cleansing,
how the wild brine clears the night’s rattling
cough, rinses her nose of thick liquids.
Her protests dissolve in the clear waves,
she glows in the spinning sun.
I wash myself in view of the rippling hills,
baptize myself in this ocean’s quiet corners.
A school of translucent minnows appear
beside my legs, feeding on my murky sins.