When they descended on waxed wings
on our white, our red, brown
on our elevated wings–
is it possible they stole you from
when they ruffled the myriad brushes
that paint our landscape
painted on rhythmic pulse of travel–
Is it possible to wash blood off skin
& flowers off skin

The memory of you my brother
paving the stone trail with soft music
a wandering tumble down our veins
a shift in atlas
the quest for the perennial record
the memory of you
still
archival
like the fact everyone is first from somewhere else

Remember we too migrated–
we once left our signatures on the sand
& on night
sliding through our fingers
like hourglass
And the memory of you
swearing an oath on a steel pike
then offering it deep to the earth & ocean
dead fish looking on

We promised we would not end like the others
forgetful of breeze
the smooth Caribbean relax
of conversation
the humanity of doing nothing

Soon you’ll have to answer to the sand you swore
& the steel you swore
because it’s possible they’ve hidden you
buried the script of you
the arching target of history: Yet
blood reaches home soon
Sand will eventually turn to bone
Wind will feel its flesh
Steel will give it body