Her connection to me
Remains to this day, a
Fusillade of astonishment set to the
Rhythm of Ellington like down in

Motown there’s a history a place
Unremitting, her qualms casual so
There’s nothing to be sorry for
Her streets bleed the same color

Of red the same Eucharist I saw
I See before I could see it
Like watching Australis Borealis
Mention the sobriquet of time

Names the scrim of every moment
A diphthong of their voices
Stripped raw before me, life as I
Cross sanguine into a new beginning.

© K. James Ribble