Poetry and Pictures from Seth in Zimbabwe

Shadows Become People

In the evening, shadows become people.
They mingle by the light in the shed,
then disperse in the forest,
their oblong bodies, hiding behind the leaves.

An embryonic fluid descends on the camp after a warm rain.
The bugs and grass rejoice,
and you can almost hear the soil swallow.

You wouldn’t know the earth has woe.
Can you tell it by the dung beetle
that pushes its nursery uphill?
Or by the hornbill,
that swallows a grasshopper with one gulp?

Desperate Leaves

A healing sound
The patter of rain on desperate leaves
Open like palms – first faint
A whisper, a hint
Then the rhythm
Taps from angels

Still – I can see stars.
And the smoke from my cigar – finds its way
Across the threshold.

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