from The Shepherd

There was a man
                  a man
                  a man.
After his time
There will always be the memory
a version of that terrible legend.
There was a shepherd who shepherded
the great promise.
A shepherd who summoned
the horizon and the point of the astrolabe.
There was a shepherd and his bundle of desert.
A shepherd and his litany of falling and nothing.
The inextinguishable memory of that festival.
The cravat of dementia around the Equator.
The air blocking the pores of the houses.
Ogun did not know.
Elsewhere someone was sleeping.
Palaces were waltzing in Kampala and Alexandria.
Mouths fall from branches
- poor fruit -
and here vultures pant.
Here they fervently curve
over a carpet of dreams.
Here a diadem of gales and darkness
drips into their skulls.
Here are the ashes of the clock, the scraps of the flag.
The shepherd sows death
in the pores of his kingdom
no rage
drums smoke news
purges the harvest of its bustle.