(After Hayden)

Toward morning the coldness of
sun covers, we become sweet
resting in splinter under fence. Symmetry
to black

the coppice reddens, his words became
objects a quiet fading albedo
during the days until
he found on ground near water.

The ground gasps     resting
his loss lay upon capture
there is breathing
there is breathing there is a
fugue a capture he circle upon
the spillage, a spilled pulling

upward. A field execution
is planned the plan is always to
find and then hang, love

can you imagine.
I of blood and hanged moving
could see the white
of his eyes

In the positioning the crack of location
and then objects wood, cotton

come falling like hurried waters
over his riven body and
soil. In the days before, our backs
became moving roads

and dust Turner
was during his execution after
metal. We became backs that won’t
open. We superimpose on the ground sticks

for running the place glistens
is steel and a sweet bruise

Calvin Walds, originally from Detroit, is a Callaloo Fellow and has taken workshops with Cave Canem. Currently teaching in Hargeisa, Somaliland, Calvin works is working on a poetic project on the history and contemporaries of fugitive Blackness.