Circus maximus

by T.P. Wilkinson / December 20th, 2015

Sand and stone,
water walking
while she swims,
clouds singing,
bells ringing
on the coast.
An arrow wants
an apple
to pierce
where a heart
still sleeps.
Waking
quaking
under dancing feet.
Turning earth
tied to tender memory
takes a tired flame
from the deep
arising in the waves
into the soul to seep
Washing wishes
instead of dishes
prepared for touching
tasting trying
the sound of home,
the circle that surrounds
those who race
beyond Rome.

T.P. Wilkinson, Dr. rer. pol. writes, teaches History and English, directs theatre and coaches cricket between the cradles of Heine and Saramago. He is author of Unbecoming American: A War Memoir and also Church Clothes, Land, Mission and the End of Apartheid in South Africa. Read other articles by T.P..

This article was posted on Sunday, December 20th, 2015 at 8:04am and is filed under Poetry.