Beneath the new moon (Photo: Faye Sarras)

Touching darkness fine, fall
petals beneath the new moon
Practically silent the stars see their sails
In the rigging, the singing to a bosun’s sad tune
Lower than limbs, slower than snails
Showers in breezes so slight
cooled fragrances pale
catching the squalls of the night.

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..