In Common

There is no space that is not ancient
And always more profaned than hallowed.
Trying to learn to live with patience,
I’ve traipsed up and down this malod-
orous paradise reciting Marianne Moore
and pretending this has something to do with Paris.

The horror is that I was waiting for something else
To take up my mind, besides ‘all this fiddle’.                                                        And here Nature is sighing, because it has everything clear-
ly in perspective: ready to die, breathing its slowest pulse,                            Insisting beyond argument that God is still asleep.
All cry, some weep, and now not even hope is near us.

But the image does remain, true to the dying light                                               Until it isn’t, forever awaiting that revolutionary sight.

(Rondebosch, 15 November 2015)