Love in a Strange Land
African drums dance in your head
as you sip coffee in icy Vermont,
a wildness your demeanor cloaks,
a wanderlust, a strange hunger
for bonfires, the swaying of hips,
raw music, untouched by processing and glitz,
of compulsive movement,
chances taken, glorious failure and glorious
soft words in the night,
whispers of love in a strange land.
About this poem.
At my age (61), it is strange to be in love. I had written it off as a young man’s journey. But then, I always liked foreign travel.
I am blessed.