.Fixated…
A light orchestra
rocks the Bay
pirouetting in a triangle
demarcating
the death of drought.

The ghosts of the Donkin
come alive under the luminescent
labia of the sky…

The crabs of Central
scuttle under the succulent
drops of water cascading
like a ruptured traditional
bead necklace:
Xhosa blue and white.

The Bay heaves and coughs,
a dry man downing his first sipple.
Then heady,
it becomes
doused – finally.

I watch a moth on the window
drinking reprieve,
escaping the pitter-patter assault

…and wonder if the crabs
get clean with nitrogen fixation.