My child, on safari
through the backyard grass, picks
a pride of them – trophies.

I know in time
their manes will silver,
and my child, grown older,

will blow parachutes
of spun seed
over alien country.

Rosette cluster thrust
toward me, love seems most
like the lion’s tooth.

Footprints at Laetoli, Tanzania

Four million years ago,
our ancestor walked through ash,
leaving prints passed
down to us in stone.

The trail broke
where the traveller paused
and shifted left. Distracted,
we stop and share her doubt.