Whence do eyes repair


the silent rooms
where we weep
tracing our fingers
our toes in the deep
finding the form
inch by inch
the rough boards
the light switch
too far
the blanket
too warm
our eyes
turned inward
the scars
when finally
when firmly
we the distant
door reach
in our dreams
in cool streams
may we sleep.
when we cannot read
we must listen
not yearn to write
but learn to sing.

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..