Down on the plain the buffalo ghosts
graze in midday sun.
Higher on the plateau amongst the acacia,
giraffe necks sway transparent
in timeless azure.
The river snakes down the basin
to where the hippo’s are dead rocks,
still, as water passes.
Elephant shapes are a sight for sore eyes
as the herd disappears over the intrepid ridge,
and if one squints your eyes tight,
so tight you can barley see,
the shadow of the lion lies there
lazying under the tree
in the African mirage.
*Gazing over the basin formed by the Drakensburg mountains one can only imagine what used to be.