Sun falling on the Serengeti, dusk
alights, and the lion’s still in the moon
‘neath anorexic dehydrated trunks
resting in hunting grounds scavengers marked.
Unearth, exhume, upturn, past the King’s gaze
they swarmed to his fleshy prize, beak to bone
delving past muscle and blood; the white gleams,
disinterring done. Don’t wake the lion.
Twilight eternalized, majestic prey
(his kill behind barren landscape hidden)
a heyday snack from their view from the sky.
Unrecognized so long now, blazon, dazed
harbinger of winter, stuck in midnight’s glare
as vultures leave his great adventure bare.