Circus maximus

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.

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