when acacia blossoms in late autumn

the usual trails are quiet
this moment is all anticipation
and fear, and expectation, and looking towards
the greater savannah, the plane
of existence in sunlight and wind, and among
predators and their prey;

you talk to me
inquisitively, scattering
words, images, probabilities,
answering self-induced questions,
like a sudden torrential rain
in some wadi or another;

i say
nothing, and the silence
expands, engulfing whole
attitudes, approaches, actions,
words, worlds, universes
and minds.

giraffes roam the corridors
of untouched voicelessness,
and the smell of acacia
brings an alternate
reality.

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