I am furling like arcs of tendrils unknown.
Perhaps it is the rhythm wafting from your country;
or the way of waters, how they hold flotsams
in their wake, in grips weighed in ripples.
Only that there is no water here anymore
and day too has strayed into a dark room.
I think now of the incandescence
of your eyes, their fidelity, the tender pull
of this sheen offering a look into the years
beyond and their promise of rain.
Tonight, Lagos is shrouded in a shawl
of half-light; time and the dark limiting
the variance of a promenade or the cavorting
of lovers. Yet we will dance to the skies,
Itunu, knowing the stars would witness, yet again,
to our oneness with their continent of songs.
Gbenga Adeoba is an Associate Editor of poetry at Kreative Diadem.