Jon Horton
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Bone Dream

It is the night of the 4th of July in the Selou
my home is on the other side of this night
and here Scorpio clasps the summer sky
and the days are warm though it is winter

A full moon drenches the flei
dew will fall as frogs and crickets call
the pumping cry of the the dove in the day
the night whooping of the hyena
drives all that is familiar from this world

At dusk I drove the dusty road
vigilant kongoni and nyamera stood
beneath a setting sun perfectly round
clear into the ground
and red as a lion’s dinner

In my tent the moonlight is chill
but I am warm
drifting in dream to a timeless time
buried in the bone
even in the very gene

A story dreamt long long before this life
when even ageless Africa was young
when the hyenas hunted and laughed
in the light of the very first night
beneath the very first moon

This is the place where first dreams
were dreamed
This is surely the place
where man was born

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Jon Horton

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