what a good life
to sit in one place
day after day
unless in distress
or pity
not to move
my feeling here for you is rooted
in a sandy soil
it grows tenaciously
but yesterday
a stalk of my mother-of-millions —
the plant which scatters itself daily
in tiny seedlings
and is thus replenished
and not diminished —
fell over
of its own weight
and the long root like a horse tail
gave in to the sand's giving up —
I could not help but think
the ending, wavering stem
felt light and free
in my hand.
I who would snatch you back
from that other place —
my whole heart goes with this —
I who always considered
how you sit here
to be a miracle —
so outwardly still
my last breath
makes an indentation —
I who rage ceaselessly
after my desires
and bring the spoils to you
considering to catch myself
a miracle —
that I should grow
so rooted in one place
in my mind
that it should not waver
unless to discern itself better
— from that one place
may all grief come
to your jungles of Africa