She called upon her invisible Saints
to testify to the love in her heart,
so full of love for herself
yet holding all of the weightless world;
her bosom swollen
like lactating breasts of Africa
called from so many lost babes
and voices of ages stirred her body.

After the honey of summer-
the bees made so little -
but the bees were fewer, and
the honey was sweet,
it clung to lips and tongues
dripped slowly and held the
light of the sun; like the cool touch
of her skin, imbibed with amber,
and when I kissed her skin
I became drunk with love.

And the Sun
made my head buzz like a bee
needing to make flower kisses,
to make honey to dazzle the Sun
and make it stay long
for September is cruel, it is
when summer is pulled away;
I hear its quiet scream
and Africa too hears the stir to her body
and she swells again; with her feet in the
turbulent joining of seas and her head
near the cradle of life,

oh… Africa.

Can you save us now…
can you look deep within your heart
and find the days before Eden fell,
before the first hand was raised against,
first innocent heart was stolen
before freedom became a passing tense

has the womb abandoned the world
so that we are finally old;
a useless woman
she said to her mirror; and I stood at her back
begging for her love; 
a useless woman she said again.

The yawning wide expanse
of jungle and plains consumed the heat
and held it for the night; when hunger crawled
on growling ground the passion for conquest,
eyes glowed in low hanging branches…

jungles of neon glares, blinking mascara
lips shone like stars all agleam
and bodies had a heavenly sway
coasting galaxies like Lennox and
West Broadway; or Amsterdam
where the rumble underground
met the clacking sounds
swishing whoosh of leather
on the loose and the air
was filled with faux fragrance
and rumors of France
printed on patches
made in Chine and chintz,
and love was on most corners.

Still, elephants walked in darkness
as they would, fences were not
long for the night belonged to heavy pods
and fences to the mud, and hopes
for harvests were left to second
guesses; the hunger of the trees
filled the night air… nothing slept
and sleep was forgotten,

swollen stomachs growling night
crying babes and swollen Africa.

Invisible Saints hid beneath
leather and cashmere, red and black
sacrifice, and hunger was everywhere
in sight and smoky summer air;
calling alms for a blessed city night.
And testimony was heard on walls
and ceilings, as night fell like
heavy Savannah air. No one slept,
for sleep was forgotten.