Today's poem is by Quincy Troupe


movement of time through the music of space,
eye hear a bell ringing blue in sentences,

the language spoken in sleep becomes an echo here,
a translation when written down on white paper,

in the air, when spoken, words seem like a dream
pulsating through ether in blue melodies of tongues

weaving inside sentences, saturated with local
idioms, carved from blues spaces by human breath,

sounds rooted in voices here evoke metaphors
coursing blood-deep, form ancient tribal gestures,

where words fixed in geographic locations repeat
through reverberating memory, bring recognition

ricocheting through a collective truth, perhaps
then language can evoke a shared history,

when sentences might mirror rhythms of drums
& a rising sun could birth a circle of love

Copyright © 2012 Quincy Troupe All rights reserved
from Errançities
Coffee House Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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