For Spirits & Bodies

& saying we are spirits, holding what
is left of us, without feeling the touch &
breaking our laughter into a thousand stars

of how we are becoming, firstly, bodies floating
in a pond of reverie, & then, spirits kneeling
before the altar of love, praying for at least

a pool of peace. Or perhaps, we are an ocean,
flowing through a vacuum of how February
brings us into a state of flight, like pigeons

leaving their holes on the shoulder of a bright
day. You know, days somehow, reveal
itself, breaking thru a pattern of sunflowers

growing above unmarked graves, leaving
an eyesore of how the word, peacefully,
doesn’t have to leave scars on the body.

Ifeoluwa Ayandele is a Nigerian poet. His poetry has been published or is forthcoming at Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Rattle, The Ilanot Review, Pidgeonholes, Tint Journal, MockingHeart Review, Thimble, Glass-Poetry, Verse Daily and elsewhere. He has completed an MA in English (Literature) at the University of Lagos, Nigeria. He lives in a room whose window faces a fence.