GRIOT

(for Kamau on his 70th birthday)

at seventy
your voice
soft drone
balanced with quick guitar pick
finding notes
no one heard or knew.

you are the griot
catching sunbeams in the desert silence
scattering wishbones at the bend in the road
etching hieroglyphics
on casements, caves, country roads
your computer
writing in light
you said.

in your nansetoura eyes
i sense sadness
suddenly gliding past
catching old and new in your crochet crown.

i glimpse your gladness
in the landship beat
tuk band engine
fuelling your missile
missal
for the ones
who came
and saw
and wondered.