This tumid stench

of self




or lens,




or curse




Forest of



bead of









this unwanting belonging


this hair left in the sink



what of it


It’s there

Isn’t it


I am dorado

I am dorado, yellow

green gold – leaping

blue freedom I,

I am

language of sun


color of turquoise


I am marlin, billless

and bowing, muscling

out of ocean, dorsal

fin hovering – joyous

over horizon



Return to water


I could simply be

relieving fear


and the parasitic itch


Ngapile and Sailash; The beads of drought

Oh nkakúyiaâ baobab, kokoô mangrove –      

arms of ɛn-dámà – arms of ɛnkárɛ́ –


let us tell one, let us tell all

the gourd

has split open



and it is of no importance



everything you may ever know

is as delicate as the way the light waters




nkakúyiaâ- grandfather/ son

kokoô- grandmother/ daughter

ɛn-dámà- sun /light

ɛnkárɛ́ – water



I collect the words from the bottomless well

head a pail, neck of sisal,

the act is essential.


The water is my former and further self

it was never born, it only grows

and it is yours


listen to the soft swash and swirl

come into contact –



glow in the eternal warmth of a second

you are mother to all










what use for words

when you have already discovered the true sense of the world


what use of fearing growing old

when you are only approaching your birth


what use of distinction

when everything lives on the edge of itself


what use of ends, beginnings and all oppositions

when they distract from the delta of presence




To be spiritual is not to live forever within

but merely to be involved


Involved in the delicate convergence of self and world


To be sensitive to all the notes in the eternal song,



To remove one’s self from the false shade

that has become of this age

and re-consecrate one self, with air –

our only temple.




To release the ball from inside the bell

let go of the individual

and know that for all we may search

we may never pick the perfect mango.



To know that all we are is inevitable

light falling on this moment then passing into another body. Nothing more


than another little journey we may still call our own


and more importantly,

to be in love with the everywhere

of this single breath –


our necessary angel


the simple rise and fall of the chest

answered in the come and go of the endless ocean






only then my friends

begins the delicacy of the poem