Through the horizon a lion swims
where fish and oxygen intertwine.
His heart is a man. The sunlight dims.
His mane is soaked at the top of his spine.
Outside of the river, he steps on shore
What were once his paws he spells out a sign
and they spell out words to tell a lore.
‘A drought in the past, the bones of the few
what was golden and green was something more
the air was more than where birds flew,
but something that powered immortal whims
and the sunsets where, what lion’s drew.’