8/30/39
Sadiq Bey

singing has erupted. just when dusk making love to the
sea is so beautiful, it frightens the heart of its
witness. this moment has no loneliness, as day's end
draws near, the song ejaculates over the slosh of the
waves: towards the shores of africa: towards the edge
of everywhere. a song that everyone on this boat
enjoys. a tune that softens the harsh eye of the
officer. a refrain often remembered while walking
through the snow, while pointing out andromeda to
impress one's lover. it is memory itself, this song. a
woman faints, overcome by the power of the song's
ecstacy. the gulls wing-dance over head, throwing
themselves at the gigantic red ball sinking slowly in
the western sky. it is not a song found easily in the
west, its origin faces west and south, faces up and
down. a song worn as clothes are worn: as skin. two
beat, four beat--that walks with a to-and-fro. song,
this evening is dressed in the red-blue of the sun's
velvet descent into the underworld. song has no words,
yet everyone sings a small part. an envelope is
opened...song leaps out like a fragrance, searches for
its singers undauntedly, sits on the fingers of the
unstroked guitar, lines the lips of poets in
afghanistan. my song, my song. my rise, my demise. my
chant, my vibrato. my splash, my jump into the evoking
flute of the soundless song.
this little steamer, in all its inadequacies, sways
gently to the murmur of this "wedding song": the sun
enters the earth's body: pure love. a union so unique,
it cannot bear a note, so tender, it can only imply,
so huge, the hum of the spinning earth provides its
rhythm. my song. my chant. my unattainable lover
climbs out of my pores, all humid. the magnetism of
the hymn of pure devotion. the singing faces aboard
the capitain paul lemerle, here, tonight, always.

© Sadiq Bey