In the dried wind walking in the trail
of my thoughts through the Sahara dust of
Sokoto plains, crossing the Niger River
whose water flow fluctuates as though
dispirited for the broken tongue
of my ancestors —
realizing things have changed;
if you see Edna tell her I’m blown away;
trying to find my way to the confessional
in the name of the Father,
the Son, the Holy spirit,
and list my deeds.
firewood splitting
a release of steam into the fire
absorbing its warmth
it’s evening o’clock
a solitary silence
The night, an exterior beautifier
lets the light infuse Azonto to the
feet of the cast moonlight shadow
by my window while seated brooding
of what could incredibly save me.
A conflicted voyager. Sipped the waters
of another land, further north in our
tribalistic department, majoring in self.
.