poetry in motion

along the banks
i reside at table mountain
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
beneath my window in a city street
do you remember
i expect you
weak-winged is song
to some the fat gods
gone are the three, those sisters rare
one with you
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
since i have felt the sense of death
one sweetly solemn thought
she might have known it in the earlier spring