In the days when a man
Would hold a swarm of words
Inside his belly, nestled
Against his spleen, singing

In the days of night riders
When life tongued a reed
Till blues & sorrow song
Called out of the deep night:
Another man done gone
Another man done gone

In the days when one could lose oneself
All up inside love that way
& then moan on the bone
Till the gods cried out in someone's sleep

Today
Already I've seen three dark-skinned men
Discussing the weather with demons
& angels, gazing up at the clouds
& squinting down into iron grates
Along the fast streets of luminous encounters

I double-check my reflection in plate glass
& wonder, Am I passing another
Lucky Thompson or Marion Brown
Cornered by a blue dementia
Another dark-skinned man
Who woke up dreaming one morning
& then walked out of himself
Dreaming? Did this one dare
To step on a crack in the sidewalk
To turn a midnight corner & never come back
Whole, or did he try to stare down a look
That shoved a blade into his heart?
I mean, I also know something
About night riders & catgut. Yeah
Honey, I know something about talking with ghosts