They have gathered underneath
eve’s romantic light —
with braided wrappers
buckled around their waists and
tattoo talking drums…
They wait to dance to the
sound of coerced timbers
as tiny beads of sweat tickle from
the armpits of languorous farmers.
Ah, the dancers have twisted their
feet to a new rhythm;
and we, like a newly wedded couple,
gaze at this miracle.