We walk the streets before the sun

in the last vestiges of moonlight

as she slowly slips down into

her dark blue covers,

and the sun begins to

open his eyes.

we are tethered to a life force,

seeking relief from

a long night’s slumber,

we go forth into the veldt

where lie the creatures of

the night covered in ancient skins,

trying to remain unseen,

still and silent,

not moving.

if they don’t move, we won’t see them,

but the packs are moving back in,

returning from their nocturnal frolick,

returning to caves falling down with

neglect and age,

absent from caution tape

but dangerous all the same.

and we walk in steps made

thousands of times before,

four legs, two legs, eight or more,

keeping a watch over our shoulders

for whoever’s watching us,

trying to start our day

in the twinkling of morning dust

as it rises with the vehicles now

moving to and fro,

sleepy eyed drivers with coffee in tow,

stirring up the scent of yesterday’s

sanitary woes, hot urinary steam

from somewhere behind an old

broken down car, and we begin

our return home, ever vigilant

and aware -

We’re not in Kansas anymore.