(Tr)aveling w(i)th the younger I
With her on your back
She gazed at intricate diamonds of the dark.
Never facing an ounce of (um)brage.

With age, her knowledge flourished
Growing from the water of your trunk
Her brain was nourished with ex(p)erience
Following in your trail

Strengthening over time
She (ha)d no i(nt)erest on your back
Nor the night sky
Rather clouds and the outside
Away sh(E) wa(l)ked from your shadow
With your trunk raised high

Lions and crocodiles swarmed her on s(e)a and land
With no trunk or tusk
Adrenaline rushed
She shook in nerves til dusk

Continuing days with no shade
Skin cells accepting harsh sun rays
With the storm of your stom(p)s
She awaited your presence
(h)yen(a)s laughed as you came
Splattering blood on your name

You laid with your wheel
As she wailed with no trunk
She wept
For you sculpted her i(nt)o who (s)he was

Long, Long down the road.
Buying from an old bookstore
Finding a binder filled with the Royal Animals

Turning the first sheet
She noticed a stamp
Reminding her of her stuffed friends
Triumphant  *Elephants

The thing that calms me the most about
                  The virus
Is to see how many people run around lost
                    And scared and stressed
Never sure if or when they could die or get it
  

With anxiety I'm constantly worried
        And stressed
But to watch as the rest of the world
             Break down
There is were I find my calm

the lights in your eyes
sent tractor beams into mine
and brought me closer to you
one day after another
for the rest of my time

You wrench the lunch
and the broth slosh-
ing from within my stom-
ach and the sad sorry meal
I picked from the shelves of
an old cold cabinet.

Hier is ek, vyf en vyftig jaar oud, met geen antwoord
hoekom is ek hier en waarheen gaan ek na die dood
wat het my lewe nou eindelik beteken;
en wie is bevoeg om daai som te bereken?
is daar n hel en n hemel, reinkarnasie of nirvana
al die interaksie, die gesukkel, die daaglikse drama
christen, moslem, boedhis, ateis of jood
almal soek iets om aan te roep in hul nood
wie is reg en wie is verkeerd; hoekom weet ons so min
duisende gedagtes, geen tyd om die rede te ontgin
soms huiwer die antwoord vir n oomblik waar my diepste gedagtes woon
en net voor ek dit kan aangryp en verstaan vervaag dit soos in n droom
en los my met niks, die eindelose sirkel, om en om
en die dooies is stom