continuity

breaking my chest and igniting the
long fuse of memories
The million white moon rises never go
numb to my senses.
I sit on the limb of an oak
paddling through my mind
a silent night
last October
I removed my shirt while
stumbling through an Indian burial ground.
I breathed in the cold
let the moisture escape from my chapped lips.
The names on the graves resonated through me
their names, carved in stone:
Huyana Imala.........................
Anaba Pakwa..........................
the unbearable weight of ignorance
tugging on my shoulders.
I teared up. shivered,
letting the alcohol march in my veins.
Another night I spend inebriated
with my wandering thought
Drinking wine under a canopy of leaves
hiding from the moon light.