In the Niger River region, there is a town whose name is the stuff of dreams: the mysterious Timbuktu. They say that, a very long time ago, the nomads entrusted the care of a well there to an old ... [+]
Who can walk today
when leaves leapfrog across the boulevard
and swirl recklessly round each passing car?
My feet dance across the sidewalk,
exploring invisible hopscotch trails
like errant children,
crunching gutter drifts
in explosions of sap-dried
skeletons of summer.
Can't you feel it,
the racing pulse of October?