Starfish, their backs sand-hard,
brutal, self-barnacled, naked-armored,
when flooded with rhythm
lie languorous, lipped with tentacles
floating through varying media.
Years die to be uncovered.
The African speechsong
on the re-found record
has lost its sting, stretch, bitterness,
a child could take home.
Silken-brushed velvet now wraps
ten years of pit-scars lifted
into justification of pain.
The starfish shatters
in sunskeins
into an animal.
African ivory-tooth
now turns from soft flesh
singing.
My eyes are filled with sand.
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