Muse #1:  The Tiger

Frannie Z

 

Sometimes he brings ecstasy:

his fur ripples when we touch,

and his eyes on fire flash,

but do not menace.

 

Sometimes he pounces,

and I must dodge his claws

and run.

 

Sometimes his feet

surf high ground

as if it’s water,

hills barely touched

by his flight.

 

Yet I, privileged to watch,

feel as if I’m borne away

by speed and time

and he, the one who bolts,

seems motionless,

fenced off by the thick grass

of a savannah.

 

Heads cocked and raised,

we both sniff hot, dry air,

our eyes leaping, questing

burning.

 

Watching.