It rains all year in Serengeti

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And I’m struck by how easily the profound
& the monumental, live in the same space
as the colorful & the fleeting.

Every afternoon the rains arrive —
even the thunder is quiet here.

Time doesn’t have a fixed unit,
but expands, like the belly of a leopard
perched high after a fresh kill.

Time has the face of satisfied slumber.

The endless afternoons
take up a lifetime & a day
is more pregnant than a decade.

And I am left wondering why anyone
would let themselves be consumed
by anything but the wilderness.

Originally written for The Pastry Box Project


In me, a retreating


Today, I noticed a thickening of walls,
in me, a retreating of invitations,
and a certain contentment, born
of too many afternoons dining alone.

I don’t know if it is resilience or cynicism
that makes it hard to step up and join the dance
that teaches me to be satisfied with exchanges
un-pregnant with meaning.

Exchanges that signify nothing,
that no one waits for,
that are almost always,

Today I noticed, after many years
the fog starting to retreat,
and a harsh blue sky appearing.
A sky at once, infinite and collapsing.


An ordinary afternoon

This moment – accustomed yet indescribably beautiful.
I exchange smiles with a man sitting across me, a white parrot prancing on his shoulders.

I sip my tea.

This sunlight that makes everything illuminated, this music that brings me home, this story that’s titled “The world laughs in flowers”

I sip my tea.

The parrot looks at me as if to question the gulf between the accustomed and the fantastic.

I sip my tea.
And the wind laughs it’s many laughs.