let us go into the house of the lord
let us go into the house of the lord

amir and i
   keep a death watch
over the last stick
  of jasmine scented
   spiritual sky incense

 the basement into
   a din and den of iniquity
(my mother's exact words)

while carlos santana and
    john mc laughlin's fingers
   speak in tongues
on six string guitars (the trinity

congas rumble
   like horse hooves

and khalid yasin's organ
    washes over the singing
like water  from a
baptismal fount
we (for once) were not
afraid   of approaching

evening sun
    illuminating the
gold-plated pharaohs

around our necks

this is who
we were once
     amir  whispers

ramses' strong, impassive


jazz smitten teenagers
    in a funk-rock world,

who would hold us --
when the records were put away
like hymnals,

when we said goodbye?


reuben jackson


copyright © 2003

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