We were of the West 
African trees and grasses: the orchid, the flame, the quiver. 

In the Nocturama of 
Wild javelina, cheetah, and gazelle, we stopped 
The clock for dusk. Freezing 

Little Tundra, Tiny 
Ice Age. Gray-crowned 
Crane, with wings extended: the wool 
Of your boyhood cast about your bare shoulders. 

Beneath the canopy of egrets, 
You slept, 

Dreaming of the sea: a great ocean- 
Liner, and the ripping of wind 
Against the latched wing of the ship’s portal.