Cottonwoods send white gowned emissaries to the grass - where I try To overhear the word that passes Between the nodding stalks of berries And the wind - now embroidered by The flight of skylarks, and dragonflies

As I let go of Adrienne's hand On that foreign veranda - As foreign as she claimed I was to her, and as foreign As that once native ground Had become. So a foreign Dusk took me in, by the hand.

And in that hand left a hunk Of dark bread. I gnaw and Gnaw on it, with a hunger (which doesn't seem to abate) For that evening I last tasted Stardust from Adrienne's mouth - Before dusk took me in, Before darkness fell.

on repeat...

Salif Keita's "Tomorrow"