Encounter with a Tapir


One somehow feels united with a tapir
In a way that seldom seems appropriate
With others of one's kind; the million years
The tapir race has spent surviving
Makes their friendship more desirable.

The way this one before me now
Stands his ground and stares out silently,
Gently flexing his proboscis in the breeze,
Brings my own unfocused life before me—
How busy I can be at nothing of importance.

His ears are lightly tipped in white,
Like the ring of fur around his snout.
He spreads his toes out in the mud
And I soak up the sight of him, wishing
I could be that certain of my place.


©2016 Michael Fraley




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