Women and men looked on stars from slavers – just
a couple of times, aboveboard. How their horizon
curved back toward what they knew, then forward
to Lowcountry rice. How their bellies shrank concave,
their minds convex with imprisonment and flight.
How round a hole in the ground where there still
was ground. Over us, a discernible pattern of spirals
and swirls enchants as glittering tails swing and sting.