Hung out by mud huts on the Serengeti Plain
Surrounding the clock tower
And by the fruit stand along the traffic circle
Walking along the dirt road, slender long bodies, witnessed alive.
Across – aisles on the Avenue, to navigate so delicately between
Still, fat, round, Bodies of clay
Encased by glass walls and resting
Alongside cherubs on canvases, imagined, ordered, interpreted.
And my body, and our bodies
Becoming lost to Africa
Passing stale carcasses rotting on the Plain.