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The rain to end
We each have doors to close
Stars to fold
Into steps of focus
We each are to write
In the margins of glass
The summer of our cities
Our hands committed to a river
Our feet to hive
But they continue to kill
Shoot, kill, and stale
Our soil
For which there is
No more paint
There has never been
Direction north
It's here, where our language was born
It's here, where the same bird
Was born twice, once
To me

a letter to melina abdullah

The summer of our cities Our hands committed to a river Our feet to hive But they continue to kill Shoot, kill, and stale

That time to you
And died
That we've built house to salute sun
In every heart
Of night more solemn than fact
Made lively by right
Came a tree of black sap
Where sugarcane and cotton
Implode into flowers
And flowers
Nowhere lower than leaves
Tell time
For which there is no ax
A drum of tree
Where a woman
Where two women
Where three women
Where four women
Where women
Dance the obatala
The white dove
Of every tresillo
Every cinquillo
Every clave
Every jazz
Every drum beat
Of every rainbow
Set to paddle
Life away from
Bearded totem
Thanks to you
There is no difference
Between earth and moon
They are
Clay, the
Same day.

Adolf Alzuphar

Adolf Alzuphar

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