Blue Music Dream

Night Sheds Its First Child (For Njambi)

Night sheds its first child,

Where you arrive cold and naked,

Now at sea level, now I turn into mist

Where long funeral gloves touch my earlobe

I wake up to your 7 a.m. phone call


“Come to where the nurses reenact

My health. I’m maddened by the light of day

Come to this place where the perimeter wall is a diagnosis,

I’m calling. Come.”


Listening to the color of skin through a phone call

That is how I deal with this. An ideal

Is to leave your voice there but no

One else will ever offer me funeral gloves

Or an open field of day to start again.


Yet my hands fit in the funeral glove

I know that voice, through the transmission how

You settle in the open field of my complex

How strange and cold our bodies

Unfurl like heavy mist




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