black poetry

who will be naming the wind
the little white prayers
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
did you ever hear of
rose and amber was the sunset on the river
the pale day drowses on the western steep
the air is full of dawn and spring
long ago, in the young moonlight
white foam flower, red flame flower
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
all down the years
when i returned at sunset
high-born race
when a deed is done for freedom