We walk the streets before the sun
in the last vestiges of moonlight
as she slowly slips down into
her dark blue covers,
and the sun begins to
open his eyes.
we are tethered to a life force,
seeking relief from
a long night’s slumber,
we go forth into the veldt
where lie the creatures of
the night covered in ancient skins,
trying to remain unseen,
still and silent,
not moving.
if they don’t move, we won’t see them,
but the packs are moving back in,
returning from their nocturnal frolick,
returning to caves falling down with
neglect and age,
absent from caution tape
but dangerous all the same.
and we walk in steps made
thousands of times before,
four legs, two legs, eight or more,
keeping a watch over our shoulders
for whoever’s watching us,
trying to start our day
in the twinkling of morning dust
as it rises with the vehicles now
moving to and fro,
sleepy eyed drivers with coffee in tow,
stirring up the scent of yesterday’s
sanitary woes, hot urinary steam
from somewhere behind an old
broken down car, and we begin
our return home, ever vigilant
and aware -
We’re not in Kansas anymore.
