greater love

I slept through the whole thing

Two floors above me

“the brother from Senegal”

on the roof’s edge ready

to trade one kingdom for another,

his long swarthy legs dangling

in the dusk of Anacostia morning

My neighbors said

“his whole body shook”

with weeping—the kind

of grief we have forgotten,

or have become too dignified to show

His wife left him

the night before;

his kingdom had come

& gone

Later that morning

I wanted to ask him if there

is a Wolof word

for the blues

or if there is any music

with notes large enough.