He writes of family
Of slaves, of plantations
It is what he knows of
Where his first formative self
Is locked away
I write of lost love
Of lust, of heartbreak
It is what I knew of
Where my later formative self
Was cuffed, was caged
In truth I don’t actually reach him
He does not respond to my change of words
Also, to be truthfully honest
I misinterpreted his first poem
I put way too much of someone other in there
Move to be by the palm tree
With the shadow
Of another palm tree
Waving on the wall
One tree’s shadows
Wave on the floor
As the clouds clear
As the full sun
Penetrates
Those millions of miles
Why then think of tomorrow
Why then think of the next day
Instead be thankful
For the palm tree
Yes, be so so grateful
For this spot of shade
Under the shade
Of the withered, twisted, olive tree
He sips, through a straw
From his ice-bound Mojito
Lime, mint, rum
Not yet noon
Or leastways
Only shortly after
He turns his ear
To the jazz saxophonist
To the sublime
Easy-goes-it, rhythm section
Music, love, life
Not yet
Over, or done with
No, not anyway near
I have a desire to write
As a way to satisfy
The needs, the wants
Of my mind, of my body
That is to release
Or to couple up
The passions, the persuasions
Of pasts, of presents, of futures
This morning I could write
The most mindful of words
With sorrow, with happiness
Shared by the protagonist
With sadness, or darkness
Pushed out
Beyond the periphery
Over the tracks of yesteryears
Any complication, or quarrel
Within my own interior
Would be planed, sanded, smoothed
Then offered by pen, to the paper
Ships pass in the afternoon
Swaying side to side
Drifting backwards, forwards
Rising, falling
With the wave, with the tide
With the squall of one towards the other
Sparkling waters sparkle
Towards the dock of the bay
I don’t know where I go to
I don’t know where you are
I don’t know that I know you
I don’t know how you came so far
It is with a heavy weight
Which I often begin the words
It is a weight
Which has been in my ownership
For a long long time
Almost since the words first began
Times pass; nights, days
Moving fast, or slow
Seeking inwards, also outwards
Prising, peeling
With the shadow, with the light
With the fear of one towards the other
