Poetry

Laying with a couple of bushman trackers
in the darkness of a almost starless clouded sky,
not being able to make a nice hot fire,
being too near to the enemy
 
I listened to their stories
and it was almost as if they
were wooing the moon
to shine through patches in the clouds
 
are able to identify any animal
from the sounds of howls, snorts
or even movements that it made
and later silence covers us like a cloak.