under fallen palm fronds the night birds are quiet…
the others sleep by moon
light…that night
…so…
splinters of prayers and
choruses of tombs
and nails and
crosses …are for
his ears
alone
and a million …
million nods here and
over there … follow him as
he time travels…from
church to
church…where
women are stuffed
into
floral dresses
like
thanksgiving turkeys and…
he goes from street to
street as
gangstas signal
others to kill him…
there are
dogs in
pounds at Christmas and…
slaves forced to
make Easter baskets and …
egg cartons full of
little girls crying in
cages
where vileness slithers
like snakes in
gardens…
…
…and…
darkness covers the
face of the
earth…so…
…
so…
…he
touches
each face who
hates him…caresses
each hand
who hits at him …. takes
leashes handed
to him by
slave whipped
indifference …and even
while he weaves rainbows….
…prepares…
to
be
blamed
for
it
all
…so…
… he free
falls back
into
his own frame..,
watches
night hawks
circle like
Easter songs
above his head and
once again walks through
gardens and
prays
