In SA, N. Cape with Marcus-our school Principal, a friend and Marcus’ wife. In the fantastic open spaces in NC-loved the horizons.
Aw things appear or gang awa
lik the soond o an echo
the clouds in the lift
the muin on the watter
the fire-flaucht, the sea faem,
the trail o a bird as it flees
or the veesion o dwams efter walkin.
The last person left the Prison bus
Robben Island tour over Mandela’s cell visit ticked off.
How history’s stream flows beyond the temporal bones
Of the dead and living or the incontinent camera-laden
They leave the bus headed for the ferry
(Nae a wee dart tae Iona let it be said S.T.).
I stay and ask the Xhosa speaking Guide
Like the rocks Madiba ground down into dust
The dream, it seems, has gone.
The steel in the secular saint’s legacy dissipated.
All things are possible and the impostors can gain
Even the highest podium to plunder.
And other leaders, other faiths must be lost
Carved, bound then found or the young breathe