By Kobus Moolman

Keep the sun on my bare head.
Keep the sun on my bare back
and on my chest and on my face.

Keep the shining sky always
in front of my eyes.

Keep the stony ground permanently
beneath my black boots.      

The wind sits in-between the pages of this book
and the branches of the thin acacia trees,
covered with small yellow blossoms.

I seek no shade, no shelter
from these mountains and this sun.

I want to be stripped and dried out.
I want to be bleached as a bone.

I want to evaporate.