Dust On A Shore Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

A spear of rain falls
on flying dust with short wings.
The curled landing
of a wave's silvery stemmy arm
stirs a cup of coffee

into sparks of stars dressing
a night of storm we drink
waiting for the moon to spill its own
dust of light over muttering
roaring snores of dust-hunters in the sun.

An arrow of sun ray
collides with the spade
of a lake's beam
scooping out water
to the shore of a storm.

What whirlpools of air
have not yet dropped
under tramping feet, where life begins
from a swelling, bleeding shell
licking a pound of dust?

(ii)

We are all shells on the beach
basking in sun's dust
falling onto a foot's cakey layer
after the five-toed hunter
has preyed on muddy sand.

Who tramps in two-foot strides
with a game-hunting bag,
fills it with crawling fingers of dust shot
by a sun's straight and slanted ray,

when eyes and ears spin dust
on a dusty axis of dust.
And colliding spears of rain

bleed shores pushing back floods
into the sea and silt,
from which they spurted.