There it looms, a life like mountain/ sheathed in fynbos, all shades of green/ while the cape drags in reluctant seaweed/ and the wind makes contrails of my hair/

I ascend too with the heather, the rooibos and the hottentot/ We climb/ now a collective of exaggerated beauty/ defiant in wind, spray and fire/

There are leaves as prone as a flat lined heart/ reeds as resilient as a returning pulse/and we all watch the hope of yolk/ of a Sunday sun dipping into the ocean/promising to rise again/

We creep up the leeward and the windward/ ensconced in the spiral of a soul entropy/ determined to survive every rock and crevice/ to hoist ourselves up the flagpole of the cosmic plan/

she stood in front of the headstone,
the past whispering in her ears,
encouraging her to remember the unsaid.
her strained eyes rested for a second
as she heard footsteps quietly approaching.

she looked up at the last person she expected to see
his eyes were rimmed with pain, his face stained with tears
he took one look at her, and he crumpled to the floor.
she stared at his heart, which, for the first time,
was weakly beating on his sleeve.
dagger-like shards poked out
atop numerous bruises and scars.

she took him into her arms, closing her eyes,
caressing his heart with gentle fingers
after a while, she whispered, "you okay?" and he said,
"I saw you here for years, and I couldn't approach you.
You would leave, and I would visit this headstone
right after you, and the sins weighed me down.
I finally had the strength to approach you today.
You can leave me here - it's your choice."

she looked directly into his eyes, tears streaming down her face.
her voice broke as she said, "I'm not leaving you here.
You can release these sins and we can walk together.
You can heal your heart, and I will stand with you."
she felt his heart pounding, saw the doubt in his eyes.
she stood up and extended her hand towards him.
he placed his hand in hers and rose to meet her.
they quietly prayed in front of the gravestone,
then walked away, hands intertwined.

behind them, the spirit -
the inhabitant of the gravestone -
smiled and began her ascent,
surrounded by the purest,
whitest, all-encompassing light.

I had watched his glow go down
and I saw the hole swallow him whole.
I now watched his light rise
and I saw his eyes rest on mine,
newly ascended.

Wake up to find it’s gone
It’s gone for good
The old way is gone
It’s a new neighborhood

Nothing’s quite the same
Same old rules
New twisted game
No feelings save for hate
No love to contemplate

I’m blind without what I need
Without it I’m all alone
I don’t feel safe
Can I learn to call you home?

for displacement of
covers matches the rising, the
floating of your soul — the green
fades to thinner pines and
wilted evergreens, while the snow
piles and clusters in cones:
up to grey, then
small, then
white.