“Is your mind broad enough to hear the beauty of birdsong
in the land of your enemy?” – Roy H. Williams

The Gaze of the Prairie Dog

When I was young and invincible,
Death would pop his little Whack-a-Mole head up
And we would laugh the laugh of boys
who know they cannot die.

We would hunt for him sometimes,
To see if we could tickle the chin of the cobra
And not be bitten. And not be bitten.
And not be bitten.

The music of the snake charmer
evaporates into the atmosphere
on the day the band breaks up
and everyone goes their separate ways.

We went our separate ways.

College and marriage and working and making (money)
and “taking a gap year,” whatever that is.
Those are the reasons the band broke up.
and the super heroes,
the super heroes,
went their separate ways.
Their separate ways.

Yesterday is gone and today has arrived.

Heraclitus said
you cannot step twice
 into the same river.
The same river.

It is now a different river.
The river is different.

“I’m not even sure it is water any more.”

The gaze of the prairie dog
lingers a little longer now.
Death always knew that I was not
invincible.

Death knew I was not invincible.
But now I know it, too.
I know it, too!
I know it, too..
i know it…

The prairie dog of Death has gotten taller, taller.
The prairie dog has gotten taller, taller.
The prairie dog of death
has gotten taller, taller.

And his shadow stretches to the horizon.
To the horizon.
horizon.
horizon.
horizon.

Horizon.

© Roy H. Williams, Tiny Tribe Music