Salt Scar

[Verse 1]
A Lion match tin on the iron table,
and a thin white line above her left eye.
Tuesday, two o'clock, the air is waiting
for the coastal low-pressure to finally arrive.

[Chorus]
That's the kind of scar that love leaves.
A story that the skin still believes.

[Verse 2]
Her thumb writes a ghost on the glass screen.
'I still smell the diesel on everything.'
She erases the words, the gantry crane groans
from the container terminal down at Bayhead Jones.

[Chorus]
That's the kind of scar that love leaves.
A story that the skin still believes.

[Bridge]
A quiet hum under her breath, a low plea.
(whispered) "Ubuye, s'thandwa sam."

[Outro]
The foghorn cries from out on the Bluff.
Enough.