Change

I rose to the sing-song of 
a hornbill
Engaging my morning wrath
in a tease
I graced a sleepy track
with hazy youthful turns
and endless dreamy twists
that end on misty ground
Curled artfully 
around a shedding rinkhals,
on a wooded journey 
to the stream
Said hello to Daddy Doe,
to buy a future village favour
Smiled at her
whose eyes never lift her face
to see the ripening breeze
beyond my stare,
and yet I know she knows
Laid back 
on the banks of the gleaming breaks
in a crucifiction pose
Watched the sun-dance 
that grandma deplores…
lest it merrily breeds a Christmas dawn
and dues are due
for earth devoted to her

Then the biting chill
felled the warm delights of my days
and sent me lengthened darkness
wrapped in a Highveld dew
Lifted the smoky plumes
in frustrating patterns beyond my view

But soon the cold whisper gave way
to a wary hint of spring,
extolling the virtues of a soggy
refrain
That brackets each end of 
the rain-soaked call…

My dew now falls on concrete
and she whose eyes never lift her face
dies a slow death
Grandma met the blinding light
when the Christmas sun-dance 
eclipsed
The hornbills and rinkhals 
meekly
line the walls of disengaged 
opulence,
and I cannot collect
on my village favour…

I rise with the same smile
Sink newfound depression into a 
gold-tremored hop
As the devoted earth moves 
with my feet
Endure the sing-song of fading hornbills
that ask humbly…
This is your dance, child
but
where lies your land?

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