In the twilight and the twittering dawn
My life goes flitting like a spotted fawn.
A scent of something stalks the tall, dry grass—
The fragrance of the rain—I come; I pass.
Acacia thorn and zigzag lightning rend
And scratch their whistling way into the wind.
Ant-castles silhouette the fire-swept plains
Where tawny kings in limbo shake their manes.
The clouds collapse; musk mixes with the breeze.
Birds dart into the hard-knot of the trees.
A vulture’s wing is passed across the sun.
Blood stirs to surly muscle on the run.
The lion scans the landscape as it lies,
His dignity indifferent to the flies.