Altar of planets
                                                               revolving from the ceiling
keepsakes of past dreams

dried orchid flowers
                                                               ground in a porcelain mortar
beads of the past and present

eye of Harriet Tubman
                                                               pierced by a cottonwood branch
in sight of the Middle Passage

pyramids of Memphis
                                                              surrounded by sand
from a sanctified buddhafield

blues man without fingers
                                                               sits at a keyboard without music
he plays a mean riff in time

to the rain
                                                               pelting the window

To read more from Obsidian, please link to our Subscribe page