Nothing fresher than the air that day Ė
Water skittering by on land too high for coffee,
too low for the tall trees and dense green I crave for sleep Ö
a condition like hippopotami submerging themselves;
thick, leathery anchors.
We immersed ourselves in the smell
of rain, fish, coffee brewing.† Somewhere far away
thunder set off on a long journey
Kikuyu mountains, the tribespeople
long ago pushed into settlements.
My face scorched pink
A day of looking into my soulís mirror
My heart someplace else
In untrackable bush
The tour guide laughed when I spoke Kiswahili,
Proceded to teach me more words
Thunder and rain.
The hand I held a part of the whole unreality of it all,
Good guy, this bwana, I said.
They thought we were husband and wife.†
So thatís how I could tell it was a dream---