At Swartmodder – I

At Swartmodder – I

Moon shining down
Upon a lunar landscape
Of reds and browns and pinks and blacks and greys and greens
Shimmering in the heat
Of a thousand ovens

Quiver trees stand guard
Over vast emptinesses
Of sand and rock
Hot, burning my hands
As I stoop and touch their barrenness,
Their wildness and their loneliness

I feel as if I am alone
With this landscape
Nothing exists but us
Both blown by the same hot winds
Both scorched by the same hot sun
Is there any reality but ours?

15/02/1991