Slow

As a limping cow or a mighty bull
Four times houghed, a great black Spider comes out of the earth
And climbs up the wall
Then Painfully sets his back against the trees, throws out his threads
For the wind to carry
Weaves a web that reaches the sky
And spreads his nets across the blue.
Where are the many-colored birds?
Where are the precentors of the sun? —Lights burst from their Sleep-deadened eyes
Among their liana-swings
Reviving their dreams and their reverberations
In that shimmering of glow-worms
That becomes a cohort of stars,
And turns the spider’s ambush
Which the horns of abounding calf will tear.

An Old Merina Song
There in the north stand two stones
Somewhat alike. One is black and the other is white. If I take the white, I am ashamed of the black.
If I take the black one, I am ashamed of the white.
If I take them both, one is love, the other consolation.

Live! at the Sheldon
First CD of the St. Louis African Chorus