Gert Strydom (03 April 1964 / Johannesburg, South Africa)
At A Time I Was Caught
in the glare of your eyes, in their bright glance
was aware of the dimple on your cheek
and my fingers did knot through your hair.
At a time weavers did sing,
ibises did slap their wings protesting
with their unexpected flying up
and suddenly your were apprehensive
and the zinc wing of the windmill turned around and around
while minutes stretched out like hours between us
when cool water came from the depths of the earth
and we drank some before I pulled you into my arms
and then you did suddenly smile
and that day changed to the most beautiful I had known.
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