The Zambesi

Zambia alone could not give her love This woman that courts Zimbabwe too Mellow like a belly dancer Her soft form moving 'round her summer pole Do not play with her heart Her passion is like a cataract raging white With fury ... beautiful the way she moves During the rains And the nights when Zimbabwe's brothel lights Lit the fluid hair that veil her face And when the drums Of distant hoofs from Zambia thunders aloud I have seen her dancing Alone in the aurora of the moon Her black thighs shivering to release Her fertility to a sensitive land. I have kissed her lips where honey drips And sipped her peace Balming memories of mangling whips I love this woman, this healer This source of life and time.