This is the house of Love, which has no bound nor end.


Leopards long ago walked this gorge
where eroded rock watches waves
from all the hollow sculptures sea air has carved,
helping these mountains practice death
and the tranquil remembrance of a heart who knows
what makes it beat, from way above,
still watching over old hunting grounds
where not one spot has changed,
though everything is different and will remain
as it is right now even when this cliff has completed
its course back into the ocean, carrying
so many swaying moonflowers
singing with the burnt-out husks of proteas
which seem placed here to prove,
with the intricate pattern pulsing in their core,
that no fire can touch the flower of life;
that it is only fire which can renew it.


Hear the truth

Keep burning

Kogelberg Rocks