"Leopards live like spotted phantoms
not just in deserts and jungles
but even in the major cities.
Recently ten leopards were trapped
in a park on the outskirts of
the city of Dar Es Salaam." (*)

------------------------------------------------------------------
The slight sound of moisture condensing
and rolling off onto the back
of that which passes in the night.
A mud slick forms in the trench
under the perspiration
exuding from every pore.
While loud, buzzing fire flies
crisscross above
and a choking ache increases
the sense of the dense heat
centered in two, almost familiar
yellow orbs.
Unblinking.
Yellow orbs.

------------------------------------------------------------------
Darkness propagates
thickening by the hour.
A long, long day now
and a glass surface glows green.
The mind reels as it scrolls, then
stabbing pain in the arm.
Something coughs and pads silently
past the doorway,
the gateway to small yellow lights,
yellow.... not.. yellow.... not.. yellow....
The pain moves up across the chest
and darkness coagulates.
Head down on desk
sleep intervenes
and defers
what waits.

------------------------------------------------------------------
Warm.
Despite the steady but silent drizzle
water cascading down from hat
onto well worn trench coat
and into gutter next to sign.
BUS (Stop).
Shadowed by thick overgrowth,
cedars and Spanish moss,
partially occluding street lamp
which does little
to dispel dark
while time ticks on, endlessly
without a bus
but with something silent which stirs
in the hedges
coughing, sighing, rumbling
but not below awareness.
Has the last bus gone?

"In over 1,200 visits
we've walked right up to a leopard.
Its radio collar marked it.
Yet, in all those 1,200 times
we saw the leopard only twice.
They just, silently, moved away." (*)

------------------------------------------------------------------
The meeting ended hours ago
just after dark emerged
filling up empty boardroom chairs
as each was emptied.
Black congeals in a corner
leaving a shadow on the heart
where pressure continues to build
attempting to avoid the negation
still hanging in the air.
A soft, deep throated, hiss
penetrates the gloom
emphasized in contrast
with silence.
Closed eyes
watch others open.

------------------------------------------------------------------
Dark, tepid drinks.
Dank, stagnant air.
Filled with smoke and mumbling
as those leaning on the bar
and in leather booths
ignore who they are with
while looking ever elsewhere.

In a mirror
reflecting small gapped railing
something dark passes behind
silently
sometimes gleaming briefly
as tooth gives in to eye.
It passes right
so I pass left
not knowing what it is
that seems to seek me
and then, waits, for me.
Will it soon
be part of me?

"...when she moves into the tall grass
she vanishes, like in 'Field of Dreams'
her yellow fur blending with the grass.
Her spots disappearing in darkness." (*)

------------------------------------------------------------------
Gradually
as the early morning
filters through the blinds
padding, rounded shadows
perambulate
among the bunks where the tired flesh
lies fallow, waiting
for that which might relieve
the tension of waking
and facing another uneventful
and hopeless day.
Relief in release
from the bondage
of breathing
and heart beats
too far prolonged.
Stalk.
Prey.
Struggle.
Release?

------------------------------------------------------------------
Tubes in arms and nose
rhythmic soft peeping
light, seeping
under the door.
"Code Blue!"
from far off
in another section?
Sounds of rubber soles
running on the tile
followed by the soft clicking
of arrogantly unsheathed claws
approaching then stalking
then preying, the struggling.
The peeping slows
then stops.
Darkness kills the light.

"... the stalking took a long time too,
... after distance of 80 feet
there were deep divots in the soil
just 16 feet from sleeping prey
as it [pounced, landing on back feet
claws embedded in the left side
it then grabbed for its victim's throat
as the victim turned away
sweeping circle marks in the sand
back claws dragging, pulling prey down
kicking, then, it suffocated." (*)

------------------------------------------------------------------
(*)epigraphic inserts:
Richard Conniff
"Following the Track of the Cat"
Smithsonian Magazine. July 2,001
... 'normalized' into 8 beats per line 'verses'.

Origin of thoughts:
Smithsonian Article
My life, your life? Someone's life.
"Jacob's Ladder" the movie