Serengeti

The self is a serengeti
a wide grassland with baobab trees
reaching their roots deep into earth
like a child into a clay pot
A wind blows there or seems to blow
if he holds it up to his ear the air shifts
like stones in a stream uncovering a crawfish
it finds another hiding place watching you
Its eyes are blacker than wind
on the serengeti they are the eyes of a predator
they are coming toward you or receding
a storm cloud builds on the horizon
Are you running toward the rain or away from it
Do you stand still and crouch hoping for silence