And the crows lurk by the murder,
swooping to the sidewalk.
Pigeons strut and flap-glide down low —
masters of the sly gawk.
Add myriad flitters and sitters —
and those who seem occupied by
a playful mating dance.
They’re squatters, stalkers, and spotters —
but who watches the watchers?
living in the space between
Kilimanjaro’s broad shoulders
[too broad to see without a panning view]
on an oasis of glacial melt
runoff that grows a plume of vivid green
amid the red-brown savannah lands
where dust devils daily form
below the equatorial belt
and when the runoff runs out
there’ll be no time to run