Three thunder booms tunneled through
The night from my room
To the cabin in a dream. Steady
Drumming of hard rain, on tin, on wooden shakes
Linked us, place to place,
In blessed shelter.
The rain of Oshun softens
The earth. Fresh sweet water
Bubbles forth and runs
To greet the mother of the fishes
In the sea. So many phantoms
Are gathering here, that boundaries,
Like time in darkness, blur,
As the bodies of lovers blur,
Who couple in the perfect dark.
Hold dawn, while I linger
In Shango’s arms. His drum
At once in the sky and my chest,
The rumble of his laughter
Music to the elder dance, the black
And polished thunderhead
Of his axe
Bottomed out, and rose with
Every rumble till the ground was plowed
And laced the row
With starshot crops.
Even from the cemetery’s virgin mold.