Naivasha, Kenya. February 2017.
I sit watching the marsh plants and the
tree skeletons ‒ there is a
bird now resting on top of one, just
a silhouette (who can imagine its eyes?) ‒
and the white egrets, bright among the greens.
I am listening to the ibis cry loudly,
and the other birds whom I don’t know by name,
and now the bird on the skeleton tree
has flown away.
I am imagining his eyes ‒ wide, I
think, and bright and moving.
And I breathe deep enough that I
feel the very spin of the earth, the inevitable
movement, the passage of time, just an idea.
And as I sit, the world waking up,
I can only think of leaving.
What if I never had to cry goodbye to the
sacred ibis? What if I never had to leave
this bright existence, this bright life?