1.

ochre moonlight percolates through
the thatch roof, is filtered
by the ebb of bats that splash against
the bound dried grasses –
what a thing they are, frenzied
wing-beat flashes

2.

this second night south of Nairobi
I cannot sleep without aid
from the dissonance

of zebra confusions of legs, calls
stomps, calls

no, I cannot sleep without aid
when we all know
the exposure of the one
who breaks away – panicked and alone –
will go first

tomorrow, when I go
on my run it will be hard to tell
which of my neighbors died
in the night. Zebras
all look the same
move the same.

3.

when on a nighthunt for lions
you find elephants,
split trees and thunderclaps

you will know why
they have been feared so historically
their packed lumberings
their strange contortions
seem something unnecessary

you’ve heard they ritualize
death and bones
by wringing them and thrashing,
or taking a fragment
of what was once a femur
to their lips.

4.

In an unsent letter home, I wrote, “Little sister, why won’t you tell me where you have been, or where you are going? Today, I remembered you in the evening – while watching zebras at the water. But hasn’t the sun already set? Haven’t I retreated to the edge of the world?

In my cartography I have discovered, the world is full of things that won’t belong to me. This place, like every other, is a place of a sun and a moon and far too many stars.”

5.

I stood before a hyena at dusk

all darkening hairs

No, no, I said, my index raised,
I am muzungu floating
in this foreign place.