Sunday, January 4, 2009
for Alma Rosa Alvarez
I Crafted This Light Out of Center
On average the Gods hold roughly,
ourselves, such binging folklore,
Such humble whining limbs
Strong at sunrise to cluster speech. . .
He'd duet nothing
We come in tenths
Playing an iron-like honor song-
For Harlem had hands of a great flattening.
Original formatting taken from Jean Toomer's "Storm Ending" in Cane