In Google Forest in Mozambique
the myriad butterflies cannot mate
the foliage is so thick.
They fly upstream to the treeless peak
of Mount Mabu. They celebrate
that the world should be so big.

For half an hour in the morning
a few weeks
a year, I climb again
odd steps to the roof of South.

agulhas

In Bazaruto the trevally
gather to go inland and turn
as the king of kingfish swims.
Into Mtentu the man-fish sally,
all scales must twist and burn,
hunters become pilgrims.

For half an hour in the evening
a few weeks
a year, I shall descend
into the labyrinth of South.

First kisses here,
a few weeks one year.
Names inked on stone,
prices paid alone.

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