A Torus

Roaming in desolation’s veld.

I came across an antique kraal,

Rock-built, that had endured since Khoi

Who’d occupied that place, then gone,

Kept cattle there, before their fall.

In the rubble, an odd gray stone,

Roughly carved in a doughnut twist,

A torus, pierced by some old fist.

I snatched this up and took it home,

Path leading to infinity;

It’s daunting cherishing the new—

Best keep old things like this in view.

So take your pick and make your way!

Life, too, is an objet trouvé.

*Brakrivier, ca. 1950/51. Not the Great Brak but a small one of that name somewhere between De Aar and Britstown.

Tuesday, August 12, 2 025