Through
the
looking
glass

on the sands of a shore
to
a
common park
an
African heart
views
global
art

We
fathom the winds
stave
the
tempest
that
stokes the grave

from
a lions roar
to
a humble dove
speak in tongues
none have heard
turning
sound
to
God's word

living
in straits
of
life above
Valhalla
here
the
gift of  love
.

The girl I’m meant to be
Will be thanking me
For writing all this poetry

Please, reveal to me
Lake of contemplation, my
Twisted visage

~
Sun drips
on leaves

not the backyard variety
but the trembling kind

the kind
that welds night-time
intermissions to
the roof of the mouth

sonnet-filled
evaporation
reveals
the timely concealment of
a very, weary
inanimate object
at the brink

just enough hip
to be woman

just enough wild
to be frontier
~