You Tarzan, Me Jane Poem by Diana van den Berg

What we share in the sun
and the rain
and the wind
and in the secret of the night,
is fragile.
It is not infinite
and it is not immortal.
It is the birth of a stream.
It is the legs of a shongololo.
It is a butterfly sunning itself on a leaf.

And so we need to celebrate it in tiny flowers,
whisper it in poetry as pure as spring water,
sing it in the voices of summer birds,
finger it with kitten breath,
protect it with the pounce of a lion
on the South African veld,
handle it like a tiny precious work of glass art,
seeing in the barrel of its soul,
the reflections of the sun’s glory
and the cadence of the moon’s soft glow
and wrap it in our arms around each other.

(29 September 2011)