POETRY                                                                                         (Copyright - Pierre du Toit)
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                   The Photographer                                 

                                
                                I feel the promise stirring
                        deep within my marrow
                        smell the blood
                        saliva, hunger in my gut
                        I stalk
                        my eyes are claws
                        I hold... 
                             - a killer's poise -

                        I strike
                        a layer off my quarries’ skin a shard from strangers' eyes
                        

                        back home, I bear them from the deep black womb
                        and mould them, shape them, nurse them as I whisper

                        “brother...sister...mother...

                        mirror?"

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