Nocturne: Beheaded
for Thapelo Makutle
All throat now already
brighter than the stars.
I could hold you in my song. Sotto voce, tremble
against me: a breeze slips in, cools my blood
to garnet bed stained
with stones, cold and finally
useless I
Orpheo, I lyre. Down river,
even damned
with hum, there is room for your cry in my
mouth Sweet,
sweet sotto voce, I sang your moan
until the machete
swung then I kept
singing. I eyeless, I eternal.
The guards hold blades to the sky and cut the dark open.
Do you hear me
raining from the wound? My
tongue
is a kingdom You
live there.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.