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Chanced were we in that space laid waste: despite desire
despair drained away its hope.

Now it’s years on – the abstraction of parting;
petrified past ash;
the gradual bleaching of a face
a negative of sap and suck.

I imagine these dunes must have curled slowly in to petrify
a camel tree in Sossusvlei.
All our lives dried up
or flew with last bird and fly
able to score from sand to sky.

Except for that tree, and vanished fish and frogs;
there is no recorded loss;
no breath within that space;
nor promise of repose;
no trace on this face…

of a second chance.

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