What comes of love
after we taste
its earthly abundance

and we feel
how it shines
how it blooms
how it rains

perfectly

I never write anymore
But I call myself an artist
We never talk anymore
But all my thoughts are about you
And the poems too.

when one looks  
to listen closely
it seems these books
of history
were never meant
to balance

Did you?

Consider the zulu sun
Remittances to Estcourt
Okun's Law
Offshore accounts
Karl Marx in KwaZulu-Natal
Systemic and Systematic Risks

and yet
the shrike bird sings
of monetary matters

I knew you
needed this
sincere apology
to pull yourself
together

but you
had to be broken

so I could
keep myself
in one piece

little purple flower
In a desert of scree
waits for a butterfly

     (me, too)

who told Moise to flee?
from these mountains
so free, so free: "Hayti"

to the plains his men go
egos of pharaoh's Egypt
egos thunder at night
this land of promise
so free, so free: "Hayti"

fill this basket, Moise
and sail on our tears
to the promise land
from these mountains
so free, so free: "Hayti"