For we which now behold these present days
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
                Shakespeare, Sonnet 106


The generations-old desire
(the declaration de profundis)
to lick with ancient words of fire
the hearth, the heart, earth’s core – this I
can feel, proclaim, but not enact.

You, speaker of secular tongues
no less anointed; you,
speaker before speech,
song-speaker, peace-speaker;
to you my wordsmith’s forge devotes
its little heat, beating out unknown
infinities:
petiller toujours, gluhen mit freuden
and, at last, a hopeful guess
from this stranger to your corner of Africa –
udzoka
I’m confident
udzoka