IN AFRICA

When it snows in Stellenbosch
(blue moons aside)
The air tingles
Like fine crystal struck
By a tiny invisible silver mallet
And all the town
Reverberates
With the glory and purity
Which will fall from the sky.
 
Forgive us, Father, for we have
Sinned.
 
Bright white absolution is all too rare
On this darkest of continents
Saturated in blood.