He climbs trees
falls like the leaves
crisp and careless
He gathers snow from the heavens
and sets it at our feet
and takes root in my home
in my sanctuary;
but stolen from a land of raucous rubber harvests and
rowdy from the world of
busted machettis and rusting car parts
do I question taking him?

for while the pitiless gold hem
of his cloth robe and handiwork
of his juba illuminate chains of pearls and rose petals
that adorn the hallway
he will continue to scale
palms with a knife in hand
and sling in the other.
Will that shroud the coconut liquor breath
my children have come to gnaw on?