Abandoning the Young
I have collected secrets, pressed
and carried them, next to my skin
to the twisted shade of the acacia.
There I pulled them,
mewling, and toothy
from my breast -- kissed
and left them, to die.
Abandoned mysteries, once seen
only by lovers in the safety of
whispered midnight, withered
in the arid desert grass,
for the Serengeti sun frowns
on the frail, burns the vulnerable,
and finds not grief, but promise