FOR DEBS

Before I left Africa

I scattered your ashes in a wild garden on the kopje.

A wind sprang up and carried part of you over the tall pink grass

and the thorn tree, where the hoopoe

sang farewell in sad, descending notes.

 The rain formed swift rivulets across the garden  

and floated part of you down to the silver ribbon of river

that lies between the mood-blue highveld hills.

I gathered wet ash and soil

and formed it into a mud-red bead,

glistening with tears – God’s and mine –

intending to take you with me wherever I went,

But I left that part of you  on a grave-
grey stone where the dove sits,

and took all of you away in my heart.