Under a full Kenyan moon

Under a full Kenyan moon,
Lit by fires of Bushmen cooking meat

Warm hands clasp. White eyes flash

We whisper then shout smiling words

Over deafening drumbeats.

We talk of names and some meanings

And how places, people, journeys

Always connect on the trail to here and now.

Listening, I come to understand

Why I can never remember names, nouns and numbers.

I know now, suddenly, in this cool Nairobi night, that

Wisdom is not names, nouns and numbers,

But deeper, dark and warm blooded things,

From the born, the dead and unborn people.

Knowing is in the verbs, voices and visions

Captured in these firelight noddings of sadness and joy.

In the hush of families and friends.

And I see all the others’ stories and my little poems,

(To strangers, of enemies and over time)

As specks of light from these fires

Sprinkled over the black earth.

Pin prick mirrors of stars in this black African sky.

And, as each fire dies, it marks a charcoal trail

Under this Kenyan moon.

I see suddenly, truly, that our future was made there

And know that it is being made here, now in this ash and am 

Happy in this place.

This place that needs no name.

 Note:  In penultimate line:  ash = Ashley; and = Andrew, am = Amy the children of our Kenyan friends Jospeh and Lydia