Sunday, December 9, 2012

Suicide Series, Part VI

There’s fire on the ridge
And the stars are losing luster.

I have planted my fields.
I have kept the surface covered.
I have amended the soil with great care.
The workers are paid, fit,
Hoes cleaned, blades sharp,
We wait to watch seeds grow.

But you are like a leopard in the bushveld.
I look for you but I do not find you.
You are laying in the cedar, cooling
From the day’s heat.
If you come it is at night,
When I lightly sleep
For another day's toil under that sun.

Waiting in sweat,
Breathing in smoke,
I am here,
In my field, attending,
Until over yonder, clouds
Do I see, the rains for a man
Who lives in earnest.

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