Zithulele

I can remember

the susurrations 

of snakey, knee-high

love grass, 

breezed into the

effortless uniformity 

I now glimpse in
West Pier starlings 

on lucky autumn days.

The evocative 

scent and shade 

of thatch, the lightness

of a single sheet.

A mattress on the floor.

The sea: 

a soft riot somewhere

behind hutted hills,

through the truthful smoke

of wood fires.