ESCAPE
From this Valkenburg have I run away
and in my thoughts return to Gordon’s Bay:
I play with tadpoles swimming free
carve swastikas in a red-krantz tree
I am the dog that slinks from beach to beach
barks dumb-alone against the evening breeze
I am the gull that swoops in famished flights
to serve up meals of long-dead nights
The god who shaped you from the wind and dew
to find fulfilment of my pain in you:
Washed out my body lies in weed and grass
in all the places where we once did pass.