Unbind my hair, she says. The night is white and warm, the snow on the mountains absorbing the moon. We have to get there before the music begins, scattered, elliptical, needing to be drawn together and sung. They have dark green voices and listening, there are birds, coal shovels, the glazed hysteria of the soon-to-be-dead. I suspect Jesus @3will@1 return and the surprise will be fatal. I'll ride the equator on a whale, a giraffe on land. Even stone when inscribed bears the ecstatic. Pressed to some new wall, ungiving, the screams become thinner. Let us have the tambourine and guitars and forests, fruit, and a new sun to guide us, a holy book, tracked in new blood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OPAL DREAM CAVE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE LITTLE FIRE IN THE WOODS by HAYDEN CARRUTH A DISCRETE LOVE POEM by JAMES GALVIN LOST ILLUSIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DE LITTLE PICKANINNY'S GONE TO SLEEP by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |