‘Round Midnight

Some nights I watch you
sleep, the eyelids’ jig

and beg, the blue rise
of memory and moon.

When you sleep, I fetch
a machete from behind

a bedpost, stalk the night,
plot the rise of infidels.

Before dawn, maybe you
whisper the six histories

of river and rain, rise like
steam from an open wound,

wrap yourself in ash,
blood and honey.

Maybe you navigate
stained glass streets,

havoc the avenues, ransack
basilica in search of me.

Maybe you burn candles,
moan canticles, conjure

lightning and thunderclap.
Sweet river woman,

waist beaded and bangled,
sing moon and I will

follow you. Rise blue
and I will find you.