rome

sometimes you looked at me: waiting to see if I would stop you
ask you to pause
be willing to sift through your fantasy and your truth
but I did not
honouring
you finding it yourself
tentatively weaving your own narrative
because
love is just a field
where anything can happen
not
a city already built for living

tevrede

daar is nie rerig tuis
vir my
nerens voel ek so
behalwe
in perfekte geluide
in harmonie
in die groot oopenbaarheid
van musiek
oomblikke
van totalle vrede
waar ek hang
saam tussen die grond en die lug
gewigteloos
sonder herinnering of bekomerte
net die beweeg van die siel
in al sy regtigheid met lewe

love

every time I think I know you
your edges and your extent
you reveal complete unknowns
your mystery humbles me
beyond the borders of my heart
makes me a child
universe
how can one life ever hope to come close
to truth
worshipping
we only realise
how infinite
we are

river-road

time
soaking this thing called life
weaver of harmony and deep truth
which is more than light
more than dark
gratitude for learning by heart
flowing forward
giving real love
that realised
in absence, in surface tension and storms
wisdom extracting from pain
dreams
of true hope
goodness following upon goodness
ready for love's joy
full of promise
grace for those whose hearts
have done their time
have kept faith
have broken open
already
present and saturated with kindness

stilte

ek hoef nie alles te sé nie
elke nuwe guns
maar ek hou dit
smaaklik
in my mond
en dankbaarheid
oorkom my hart
en hou my vas
en oop my

fatherland

fathers who left
and fathers who weren't able to stay
some who we've watched never live at all
and others who won't die in us
for good or bad
the gravity of fathers
and the earth we fall to
under their weight
and the space they occupy
everywhere
uninvited, and with longing

tryptic

reading the break up poems
again
I see how I tried to love even her leaving
and I feel again
my shape-shifting heart
that can give even when breaking
that has only one real magic

how faith informs
every breath
how the narrative and the truth
occupy
how immaterial
a person is

how small
significance
can become

how infinitely
we create