At midday…
when the breeze blows from the bridge
you will see them.
Their dark bodies soak up the sun and
they drift straining
against their strings,
hugging the breeze wanting her freedom.
Water laps at their boards
from the river;
the water… she makes them glisten,
Shooting tiny sparkles
where the eyes fail to catch…

My eyes remember…
Fishing trips
on their backs,
Many many years ago
when infant sinews still graced my back,
the countless drifts and
their peaceful movements when the nets are set
and we wait… and wait…

On these horses I rode with the peace
from one Hyacinth clogged end of the river
to the  mangrove roots in Iyi Ukwu;
In wise naivety
Till my mind sees
My soul listens
and ears awaken…

They turn now… The breeze makes them turn.
They ride on the surface restrained by their strings,
Clanging, dancing in simple yet inexplicable beauty.

But true beauty only comes at sunset…
When the wind spirits come to sail…

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