across the island i carried my
soul as one would carry a tiny
baby found starving and dying
back leaving skin shedding
and merging with the tentacles
of the rotting world
my voice walks like a skeleton
i have reached the edge of lagoon
protected in the curve of the tidal
rhythms are beating down my bones
the island has appeared
floating perhaps beckoning me
to its water free of beasts
our voices are saying to our voices
i am the center and the sense
i am the sun
out of me comes everything
Written by Henry Dumas (1934-1968)
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