today the sazzle stopped
when i asked it to
and the lilt of west africa landed on my lap.
exquisite joy and lidless relief
came with a walk through the headstones
emma, nannette, elizabeth, john.
after lucky lentils on lunes.
now martes
a golden spark
sets me alight
honey on my tongue.
there, that sandstone bench
floating in a galaxy of city lights,
the wind shook the trees
and we left the earth below us.
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