by Shola Balogun
Bedraggled and brow-beaten
By the salt waters,
Alone in a crumbling shack
By the sandbars,
Beneath the blanket, a fisherman
Shares beads of tears
With the droplets of rain.
A flawless film of playful children,
Tossing in the dune of past years,
Flickers in the synopsis
Of his eyes.
He remembers the field of floss flowers
At the other side of the stone debris,
And with unleavened tongue
Sings knotted epithets of sparrows.
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