Two antelope fight in a dusty pool.

The heat makes their grass coats shimmer,

Perhaps by the setting sun,

It’s as if they’re not truly there.

Slowly backing, heads dropped

A moment's breadth.

Then like eagle’s dive,

Their delicate, clay-shaped features raise,

Then crash together.

Hours have passed.

Still frozen in this cracked earth rhythm.

Slowly backing, heads dropped

A moment's breadth.

Then like Savannah wildfire,

Their delicate, clay-shaped features raise,

Then crash together.

.

As if each hit would give the other an idea.

And both desperately needed to show a whole novel’s worth.

One butts of love, with its hazy heatwave obsession.

The other of science, calm careful and patient.

And with each butt, the two sound more and more alike.

They must be completing the last pages now.

Their rhythm slows to a stop.

Both wheezing from the book they wrote.

And bowing on the spot.

They dust their shining coats off,

And come to meet once more,

This time to shake each other’s hooves,

Then hobble off quite sore.

If you ever travel here

Keep your eyes out and do not doubt,

A dust cloud in the bush

Could very well be the antelope, having a scholarly bout.