he was Nuba
his soul an antiphony of sadness
his eyes as dark as black death save for their yellow sclerae
like a weird duet of moons with perfect circles cut out for irises
the work of a child in kindergarden cutting paper pieces her mind as concentrated as a woman giving birth
behind them beat the dark heart of Africa
the mortar board and gowns in perfect harmony bleak as night
he graduated with our son
both played to a brighter future
Flynnpoetry 