Suppose I was dreaming not about you but for you on your behalf- Sekou Sundiata

The morning Sekou died there was a great thunderstorm and so when he died I blamed the weather... first. I woke up in the blast light hum of the sky. Dread. New Jersey. I had been driving ing ing all summer and that day I drove a tiny Siamese cat to a shelter in Connecticut. Flying down the Taconic, making Nicco nervous, I didn't answer the phone when Mya called. And then there was an explosion in midtown that morning and I read that one man died of a heart attack... Sekou? Totally fucking crazy. I flipped pages for his name.

Then I looked at pictures of him. None looked like Sekou. They were static. Not like him. Then I looked for his words, which you can't find. Only his voice and I felt anger cause his voice is real. "Mary J Blige in a pool of light her face a spirit washed in sweat right hand to god baby baby this I know..."

Then one day I stood frozen waiting outside a cafe I knew he read at often even though I never went. I said I was standing there to see if anyone was there for me to talk to. I knew I was standing still waiting on him.

He handed the piece of paper with Blessing the Boats to me.

I can't really explain how this feels. I was driving up in Vermont last month in the North East Kingdom. I had been thinking a lot about the ocean and my need for it. But then up there in the midst of giants I thought about how mountains are waves but they are waves we move around. Something, no everything, about him was large. We were lucky enough to move around him... as he moved.