To Bose and Abdul

there are circles
that don’t just go around alone,
they warm squares as you do
warm tales like your memoirs.
you’re an extension of rain
an old road
a stretching bridge.
gratitude looks like all you’ve been through
and the one still yet to be told
raw.

you’re a piece of time—
an absence of a bit of fear,
in your songs
I have heard of waterfalls,
the sky peels.
the moon is your feet
it rises with your pain
you do make the earth yield
you make stories cum
you cut even with blunt knives.

Ruddapoet