Cheetah

Even with my good binocularsit’s a buff-colored smudge in the distance.A smudge that pivotsso the outline of an earbecomes visible, briefly,before it’s consumed into the whole again.That’s it. And yetit’s as if the world unbuttoned her dressand we can’t get enoughof looking. This is happiness—without the freight of happiness. Onlythe machinery of our eyesworking so hard to speed throughthe air, thick with dust and sun,through the tall, tangled grasses.We’re looking through a pinprickin the universe, boundto any aperture, no matter how small,glad to be swallowed completely. Hunger,thirst, the need to peeall disappear. We’re focusingin now, our pupils opening. We’re way pastpast regrets, failures, promises,sunk deepinto that bit of tawny fur.