The Bururi Picnic

Another afternoon slips into dusk and the sharp shadows dissolve from the sidewalk.
For a moment I thought I saw your profile from the back, the bounce in your walk and mischievous braids.
Requiem from a crackled old man’s voice from the speakers on the minaret begins again.
It’s evening now and I’ve given up hope of finding you here among the crowds and glaring head lights.
Carefully he recites the verses that he knows so well but strains to sing.
An icy look from a car window sends a sobering shove.
Darkness has returned to the streets of Dakar.
Tripping on the broken sidewalk as I watch you glide effortlessly
as though you've studied every patch, stone and protruding root.
I look up but you've disappeared in the crowd ahead.
What I wanted to say to you is still on my lips.
The crackling load speaker clangs and is off.