559
guembri
(gnaoua)
like a pencil points
savage scribble
tug down the twine to tune
impression of all things passed
fallen to prayer
made music just to be
there are eyes in everything
a lot of plight to come to colour
just this rhythm
every window blank to see
pigment, scrape
the weather rubs our dark inside
doors a welcome to the world
there's all this why-nottery, atrocity
plan's imagined from above
but the bird's world isn't ours
gods see up through the earth
eyes death
the yellow slippers and the gourd
three strings, a goat skin stretched
no frets and all approximate
hands flexed for these to hold
calligraphy!
this air!
Terrific piece. The poem too.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
Delete