the intricate wood I once
carved my path through
now is spare savanna
pale grasses, thin scrub
rarely a tree, seldom two
horizon an ocher haze
some days I turn my back
on all that promise
other days I start across
make note of what I see
hardpan, seedpod
bones of a famished fox
lichen creep, wild flower
wait for what I hear
hawk, hyena, desert hare
out there the lion
drowses, well fed
next time she rouses
she’ll see & leap for me
No comments:
Post a Comment