Traces

This first morning finds me
fooling around with green tea
and listening to a conference of birds
at the old Calitzdorp station,
singing their perfection as I sit
and sip simplicity.

The desert is still cool right now,
when gathered wings will give you
everything you need,
nestled beneath the grape vines
which grow living peace in partnership
with the olive trees planted
next to those old iron tracks.

I’ve traced it out truly
and my heart tells me
I was formed for this content,
as two mating turtle doves
come to do an intricate dance,
hollow bones humming their hunger
for each other;
their happiness at being just one
more delegation from the divine.

Everything is awake, dear friends,
and here is that ancient word - akhbar:
greater.

Greater than you could ever think,
just waiting for you to greet it.

Traces

Raw

Repetitive

Redemption