The Somali Horn and Cape of Good Hope
clamp a continent together.
We fly and fly.
A rusty waste separates
the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn
from the green arbiter the Equator.
Our plane shadows a Nile that curls
like an adder, sluggish, clay-brown.
The brown gives way to black at sundown.
By sunup, there's here.
