i used to make paper boats out of my arithmetic
notes & place their butts on a stream of stretching
waterspout beneath our house stairs. they help my
figments sail into a pace where dreams are kept
in a cart of running hopes; a fleet to fantasyland

my friends & i, sing aloud & claim every drop
of rain in october like mirthful fishes in the lake
leaving behind our rues & counting stars at night.
sometimes, when the sky growls after purging
ponderous fluids on our zinc roof, i pull my shirt off
& trace my shadow round the walls. they remind me
of her, i mean the northern girl in my ghetto whose
glistening skin is a spitting image of sable models
in an afro-fashion magazine. my desires are ethereal
as i make paper planes & throw my throes into a
rapid flight — i bid them a bye & live off their wails
like a pilot flying his way through the burden of
— gravity. i was told there’s love in dews; so i go
sleepless at dark & rip leaves of their wet comfort.
i know these bonny tales are dust of lingering years
i kept them with a grin on my face & patted my lips
into prayers like a monk at the edge of a sacred recess
after rainfall; i smell rainbows with tinctured hopes
& goggled at the brown hawks gliding through the
turbid ambience. they remind me; of today & tomorrow



Photo by Dan Hamill from Pexels