you are a jazz funeral i stroll in blue bath water
or
when the saints come marching in, congo square is gonna be all-the-way live


i traipse your canals
the scent of 9th ward slumbers

bathes your second-lines a tin-like
tuba’s juice sweeps forehead

i seek your chicory coffee
it sets in cheeks and warms
the tonsils
beignet dust freckles breasts

daiquiris dance lips your
rum sweetens thighs swathed
in rues and remoulades

i skip your west bank make
mardi gras with indians and creoles
who take all night to say baby

and juju me good on mid
night river dates (a man who flicks
black like sunshine and speaks french
is a dangerous thing)

you are a city of walls and bridges
held together by dollar-plaster
and color-struck brick

i loiter your levees scratch my
name in their flesh like present tense breath
ebony is (always) here