The water calls.
I walk the streets in densest night.
The moon creates dawn before the advent of the sun.
A pathway to heaven lies on the water,
As I walk, it beckons.
There’s a drumbeat.
I’m pulled by the fullness of the moon
and urged by the lapping of the harbor.
An insistent rhythm of
African drum tones
In an ancient pattern
Goon/godoe/godoe/goon/godoe
Bass tone alternates with song tone
male and female. A timeless thrum.
Treasures lie in my path.
A baby shoe by seawall’s edge
empty and wet with dew as if the baby
had jumped over into life
and a primal baptism.
Sprinkles of oyster and mussel shells
glow in the moonlight.
A red ribbon. A manmade river of blood
drizzles the pavement.
Now I hear the silent city
as it accompanies
the drumming of my soul,
and the song of the moon.
Many years ago, I wrote the progenitor of this poem when at dawn on a full moon, I walked along Charleston’s High Battery and found these objects. The entire walk was a journey of many miles, in just a few short steps. The poem formed itself then and have gone through several reworkings. The photo illustration is one I created to accompany the poem.
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