Chasing Lions

Chasing Lions
First there is the vastness of the Bush
much more in my memory then what spreads out
before me as I sit here in the Land Rover roving
through the dirt roads, ever moving, jostling, bumping
thumping into and over rocks and puddles as the
gray skies drizzle down the soft rain down, down
onto the parched spaces inside my brain.
Then there are those lions ever ahead of me
their elusiveness as ghostlike as the reality
that I might not find them as they slide out of
view, the idea of them goes slightly askew, are
they even true or just some metaphor for me to
construe?
The almost sleepy look of the lion's eyes peers out
to me from the bush grasses as I sit in abject shock
that at last I have found the prey that I seek only find
that what is the lion and what I have believed to be is
not the same thing, it's the idea that takes wing, nothing
will bring back the truth that comes from the heart of this
hunt, this trek, this walk into the bush, just a journey to try
on like the fact that in all this I am still chasing lions.