parallaxis

late-winter pre-sunset, flambéed (or what i would have liked to show you)

i wish i could show you, this late cantaloupe afternoon in gold-glimmer sky -

muskmelon, nutmeg papaya , misting dim through cheesecloth sift,

a purple-red globe hangs on spider trees when the breeze is blue,

swathed in twisty turns and sharp corners that shout with no sound.

the sun, that harmless ball set in pale, retreating west away and far,

but here, near, and over there; grey wings fly home, chattering

all the way to eaves, last chirps beckon behind-time birds; and all green

things hold their breaths for sunset, only a breathing space away;

and hush sounds holy while last horizons rest behind the trees here, in fragile blue -

and in the night-pink light,

dust becomes dusk

just as dusk becomes the dust.

about the media:

'this is a south african song, a zulu song called mbube (lion)...it has been sung for decades in south africa; we talk about a lion sleeping but it just deeper than you think; when a king dies we say in africa, that he sleeps and when shaka died they sang it to tell the people that the lion is sleeping ..i yu m'bube which means, you are the lion...shaka you can't die you are certainly sleeping...'

seasofme190815