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 riot somewhere

behind hutted hills,

through the truthful smoke

of wood fires.