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
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