Old Black Lightning, where are you a-going now,
feeling yourself to be a lion?
Hey now Old Man, Mane of Midnight!
Why be you a-roaring now?
There are tubers in this place,
succulent gourds, teardrops to
keep us from the heat of the day,
shimmering like a translucent curtain
of sandy glass
But in that great old voice of yours
you call upon the spirit of Lion-that-is
and Lion-that-has-ever-been
and Lion-that-will-ever-be,
their plenipotentiary, in thundering embassy
In that great old voice you impart to me
there is game nearby,
eland and honey-dewed desert antelope
Feeling yourself utterly to be a lion,
you let me know that Life is near.
September 2010
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