Thursday, April 9, 2020

The Impala

The Impala

Bounding with a grace seldom noticed
  lithe, all lines flowing as tho a comets trail
The stare not a stare but a melting caress
  warm, tender, yet intense, reaching with a touch so light
I felt I was bounding too
  not running, not escaping
Captured by the thoughts of being free to feel
  visceral in the thoughts of a warmth so deep  
Sensory in the nearness
  tingling with the scene and memories
In my bound of mind was a warning
  perceived on the breeze as danger
The flitting oneness lost to the unknown
  fears, aloneness and remorse at the thought
The bond, the enthralling joining of sense
  now broken by the unaccustomedness of rhythm