I tell my story, from the genesis

Of Sarkin pawa like country song

On a patriots mouth. The radio

Flourishes in broken signals in a distance

That is yet to be of us,

My not yet [dead] father; perfume

In the world, whistles to the rhythm

Of a sad song.

I cannot let the evening take

My people away, I cannot sing

With  my peoples tongue,

I sway & sway, till the story goes

Far from my mouth

Even farther from being told.