tusks
achingly ...
he still recalled
as if but a day hence ...
the air still moved, tender
the earth a-sole, still trembling
grasses parting like swells for a mighty prow
dust from bulky feet in diaphanous clouds ...
swept up and woven like a thin shuka
as if a Maasai blessing
to grace the hips of the coy Kilimanjaro ...
yet naught remained but the beautiful white
the echoes of the poachers' rifles
and countless cries of a grand species, ghosted
lost to the thirsty Serengeti soil
shamed red by the rills of blood let
for a sake, sadistic ...
and the inexhaustible glut
of greed.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with GALA AI software )
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