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