Misheard
A border fence in the rain of the Eastern Cape
An empty room on the farm
A shadow
Is where I see you
A dune we once jumped over
Is where you are
A bag of plastic animals
Becoming
Games
There are no more of our games
Only chess
With changed rules
Lines crossed, conflicted
And you
Are sold for gold
For blurred eyes, clenched hearts
For the hands held in pained power
I am left here
Ears to the ground
Waiting, listening for you
But the steps are too strange.