3-I know not my name
Find me among loss,
The constant chatter
Of cold teeth braving night.
The sweat on a heaving
Mound knuckled in ripples
On pure black worn skin.
On the haunches of solitude,
Carving rhythmically a tale
Beyond the palm fronds of reality,
Out of the suffocation let free.
Into a beat infusing the circle
Of an ancestral clan stomping
The spirits out the dust of land.
From the trees of their horizon
Comes the wood I turn to
A man bearing the entirety
Of the clan he once knew
Belonged true.
Grandparents were children,
Running in scream
From the flame
Squandering a child’s hopes
from those eyes forgotten.
A figurine of the unseen.
Receding blindly
Through his purging art,
To chill him back to
The end that came-
From his beginning.
A figurine in a man,
Holding the distant
Hands of the land,
Lost to the land
Of a white hand.
The lone root;
I carve on.
