Desire

Desire to walk into the sea again, and wash clean the wounds of his mind.
Desire to learn how to listen for each fifth wave, until he grows still and forgets himself.
Desire to somersault into those waves, until the laughter rings from his belly.
Desire to dance, on beaches at dawn and under bright lights among strangers.
Desire to dance in one place, holding empty arms out in front of him.
Desire to learn to trust silence again, when there is no music at all.
Desire for the faith that life flows strong and clear through him, whether in the arms of someone or alone.

 - Jacques Coetzee

Riddle

What colour
is the crone’s womb?
Luminous milky turquoise it is,
and smooth as silk. A bag full
of magic, under her used-up
udder.

– Silke Heiss, 30th June 2024

 Notes from a forest

Lichen inching its way
up the trunk of a pine tree –
the distance, unknown,
of the journey ahead.

*

Silence –
the forest’s soundtrack
to growth and decay.

*

Fallen leaves –
the compositions of trees.

*

Rotting tree trunk –
food and accommodation
for a burgeoning termite population.

*

Small bird on the wing,
minstrel of the morning –
will you return to lend your song
to that chorus, at dusk,
among the darkening branches?

- Eduard Burle

Toffee ice cream

This is to say that, when
I congratulated you the other day
for being vigilant about your intake of sugar,
I really meant it.

But for me we will probably always be
in that ice cream parlour, in a much too quiet suburb
in the days before my divorce.

I remember the flow of conversation—
all those new intimacies finding speech—
but mostly I remember the moment when
that rich, cold, clotted sweetness
insisted on spilling over the edge
of the bowl, until I lifted it
to my hungry mouth, and we both laughed,
signalling we were fine, still knew who we were.

As a child, the important thing about eating
was keeping my hands clean, or washing them
as soon as possible if all else failed.

Now here I was, my hands already sticky
with recent failure, bringing this bowl
of unearned sweetness closer to me,
to swallow one more bite
of this incorrigible,
mind-numbingly beautiful world,
and then another.

 - Jacques Coetzee

Benguela

for Alex Bozas, Brydon Bolton & Ross Campbell of Benguela

i.

Molten trio
tears at, peels back
the sky –

we fly through
black holes,

watch stars realign
and comets collide –

light and dark
ripple and bend,

come along for
the ride.

ii.

This music burns
and shudders into darkness –
its spirit
is deathless.

- Eduard Burle