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Everything comes alive. Miracle of moss
& mangoes. Where there was nothing, a mirror

blooms. I am so high I can bite God 
on his face. It is Rainbow Season. Tell 

the light to take the stage. Tell the deers
to make a prey of the music. I believe 

in nothing. I believe in you, confluence
of stars, congregation of glimmering 

things. I keep running because Death
wants to use my hand. What do I say

to the wistful flamingos of Yesterday, playing
hoo-ha in my backyard. What do I say, mother,

to the Grief, to the salt rain that pours
in the pouch of my days. What do I say.

Today I saw the end in human frames
& it rattled me up, & I rattled them up.

I just want to get home, make merry
while bipolar lets me, or make a fairy

tale of bitter-throated sparrows. I just
want to not be this boy who caters to this body

who caters to that body. Maybe tomorrow 
the miracle will not moss or mango. & where harmattan

collects its cowries, there’ll be an empty snail 
shell.