August Moon
By Michael Simanga
Our harvest moons
are Black
bejeweled with red stars
draped in green sky
only those who know
can see
Our harvest moons
are Black
giant drum overflow of images
notes passed and read
by those who know
the language
Our harvest moons
are Black
harmonies and back beats
fast feet trembling lips
joy and magic hips
for those seers of
then now and next
Our harvest moons
are Black
beams on our garden secrets
sustenance for the tongue
and other muscles
of those who know
the soil
Our August moons
are Black
light
preparations
for the winter
and the summers
of liberated people
By Michael Simanga
Our harvest moons
are Black
bejeweled with red stars
draped in green sky
only those who know
can see
Our harvest moons
are Black
giant drum overflow of images
notes passed and read
by those who know
the language
Our harvest moons
are Black
harmonies and back beats
fast feet trembling lips
joy and magic hips
for those seers of
then now and next
Our harvest moons
are Black
beams on our garden secrets
sustenance for the tongue
and other muscles
of those who know
the soil
Our August moons
are Black
light
preparations
for the winter
and the summers
of liberated people
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