SEA POINT, CAPE TOWN

Below the promenade the waves, piled high
In their long journey from the shores of South
America, come crashing in and boil
Over the rocks in a surge of green-white foam.

The setting sun sets half the sky ablaze
Then quickly disappears, quenched by the ocean,
And in the other half the first stars rise
Above Lion's Head in unfamiliar patterns.

The wide expanse of water now is lost
In darkness, yet its sound and smell remain,
While, to the north, the Robben Island Light
Winks constantly in the Atlantic night.

And couples walk along the promenade,
Between the lights of town and the dark sea,
Talking, but what they say the surf drowns out,
Guarding their conversations' privacy.

 

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