(for Ify Omalicha and a few others)
Your nimble hands scribbled notes
and played a verse that called my heart
to a dance my feet tapped to.
Procrastination put iron shoes to a meeting
where both our smiles would have dined
while we sipped of a shared bliss…
Slowly, I took off those shoes and found the road to your ends
but got news on arrival that you had found the road to my ends—
found the road on that journey to your eternal end…
They speak of you now in ‘was’ tenses:
“She WAS delivered by the roads to the summons
Anguish boils in my soul
and sorrow becomes a flood
that breaks my eye banks in streams.
Can I find the ease to kiss away this sorrow
of words that never came
proclaiming my love of your verse and… you?