She stretches out below me
Like a great brown animal
Growling in the sun and yawning with her shining teeth
made of the buildings of Johannesburg.

I stand on her skin
and I feel her heartbeat below me
Thrumming
Moving
Aching
Cracked and dry, the middle of winter,
she is thirsty.

Africa howls to the red moon,
Kicks up dust into the sky
And runs free
Africa cries out
And will not sleep
Because Africa is old, and she is wise,
and she knows what all wild things must know;
she knows that her predators never sleep.

With her aching eyes
Africa looks forward, towards the burning horizon,
and she is restless.