fragments of summer in Africa

 [ of Love]

some words come sparingly
like Grace, a word like forgiveness;
some words fall like rain
rise into rivulets, pour to flood-
a word like Love- but when
a single droplet touches a dry seed
to green and reach for light, then
it is above the flood, it is Grace

[of poetry]

for there is something I wish to say
words to greet the Sun, forgive
a too-brief cool of night; bless
the unspent coin of this day
yet it will not emerge, choked on spring dust
asleep in winters' doldrums, pregnant
like the womb of a lesser Earth
joy mixed in fear--milk or tears --even
nascence has a price unpaid

[of night]

then quiet seeps within
where breath and heartbeat
grow to roar and drum
and thoughts that speak
without invitation, make
a stage of night,  where no one can say
hush