• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 09

We Catch the Wind

The morning sky cobalt and emerald,
a ghost river and a ghost shoreline without litter,
and then shadows of decrescendo and allegro,
a challenge that brings fortissimo to daylight.

Here comes the man at the edge of the curve with his kora,
the duck of summer suddenly heavy with the arias of opera,
the relief of agogos, slit drums, seed pod shakers,
dancers coming from the brush and thorn, the grass and tree line,

djembe drums, talking drums, schamanen trommel,
the heartbeat of movement, the rhythm of shells and bracelets
and here comes the women with their adunga stringed harps
bringing their possum of truth. The wind slips in, leaves sing,

love and comfort, a hug, a clapping of stone:
no ghosts, but food and friends--rejoice, rejoice, rejoice.