I hid my energy here

It is buried in the lines…can you see it?

Push past pen, past paragraph

My spirit is rooted here…can you feel it?

I drew my ink from the ducts of lovers who lost lovers– there is no sorrow like this.

I am naked beneath these words and yet I am clothed without it.

Have you ever been to a funeral and the weight of the dead lays hovering just above you?

Tension, a steel rod?

Cold settles on your skin and attracts hairs like magnet

Your gut, pools at your feet

When fear radiates off your surface, the black of the garb is not enough to keep you from being haunted

You will regret never fully learning to trick ghosts out of their existence.

My heart is hidden here, 

Have you seen it?

I wrapped it in widow’s weeds, I did not bury it within verse

I hid it at the surface where you would not search

It is my iyi-uwa

My reason for coming back

Your source of confused longing

Every time you comb my words,

You will feel me

Always.

I dug up these devices and lay myself down here

Not so I could make a burial ground out of you

But because it I’d hidden anywhere else,

I would not have survived

Muhammad…

God must have dipped your heart in ink even before he made the valves,

Strung honey combs from your vocal chords

So by the time your brain intercepts your heart the words flow twice as sweet

When he formed your soul he thought of all the heights and depths you’d reach,

So he ignored protocol and made yours twice as deep

Muhammad…

God does not make mistakes.