From the corners of my eyes, I see him br The White Lion. br Behind me, hunched over br exhaling smoky puffs frigid br as the top of Kilimanjaro. br br The White Lion, as a child, br I remember br In my sleep, I see him br scratching the door, wanting to get in br but open the door, I would not. br br Its many changes, time has wielded br but his appetite, time has not waned. br The door he has forced open br and now lays in wait. br Ripe for the race is the prey. br br Freezing fear br immobilizes me on this hard stool br where I stoop br while he waits, stirring not. br br My fear is the White Lion’s delight br My pain, his ecstasy br My discomfort, his purpose. br br How long can the hunter wait br for the thrill of the game? br The White Lion is ready for this prey.