Monday, August 31, 2009

Dance of Sango:



Dance of Sango:

The doorway’s in a clay wall
With a zig-zag paint job, turquoise above,
Lemon-sand below. A fire-billow cloud puffs
Out with darkness behind it. Someone, black
And handsome is standing hidden to one side
blowing out fire-balls. The fractal turbulations
Of the flame’s surface roll into themselves ~
The center is white-hot, the red-orange of the surface
Turmoil, though hot enough to sear my enemy, is
Actually the roiling outer skin of the inner flame
Held in shape by pressure.
He’s probably taken a mouthful of kerosene
And blown it into an exploding mist;
or else the Orisa is here
And the fire is magic.

The drums are from
fast punctuated thunder, raced to the heart’s pace.
Sango swirls out, with an axe. His giant swirl came out of
The fireball. Molten electricity in whistling shot-balls flash past
The body in its scarlet bridal skirt, ebony sacred in the axis,
A bride now to the greater male inside. Our eyes are wild.
Even when the whole being is perfectly still, and the eyes motionless.
Still they’re somehow held too open to appear normal. Things that are seen
Normally are at some distance. The light pouring back from things seen
Strikes the cones inside the eye, and the phantom of the shape
Received is identified. No one can indentify the shape
We children of thunder see ~ but our soul -
dancing in the ozone veil
That shrouds the lightning.

(thanks to Scott & NASA for the illustration!)

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