#42
That is my face on the zebra's body.
The striped plain is habitat and prison,
But no dream, not even a vision.
Move but slightly, I become nobody.
I can't remember how I came to be.
Perhaps I was bewitched by the gods.
I am a creature against all the odds,
A thinking, feeling singularity.
Animals are defined by their camouflage,
But not men, and I am neither one.
Come, capture me. I can dodge
Your eye -- before you start, you're done.
But, in doing so, I lose myself as well
In this dry, cold, vanishing point of Hell.
Note: This drawing, by my wife Ruth, originally in blue pencil, is based on a character from a long children's story called "A Tale of Tails," which I wrote in the 70's. The zebra's face is mine, 30 years ago.
