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I awoke this morning dreams abounding
transparencies of tender glories, memories
angelic and compassionate surrounding me ...
your rich brown face your hair of willow
your bewildering smile joyful on my pillow
in my bed and in the house of our own hands ...
the dusky day the tender darkness
the joyful weariness of clay and light and water
on the land and in the bush of your caress ...
the children chase the ducks and chickens
their laughter is the laughter of our ancestors
our gods and our own hearts ...
as though another life were given
another past to fill the days with promise even
renovate the garret of my soul.
whose gratitude is this I've stolen?
or does so great a gift belong to any one
whose heart and spirit have not both been broken?
Orishas wash my heart with laughter;
such gratitude I will not give up to disaster
or truth or sickness or even mine own end ...