Deep

below the surface

the lion

waits.

It waits for what it wants

what it did not get

the first time.

It’s not a young lion

anymore

and it’s not an old lion

but it knows

what old is

and it’s not going to get old

the way it was young.

It’s working things out

in the dark.

What makes it a lion?

A belief and not a lie

it tells to itself.

A mane

growing out of its back

even though it shaved

everyday

because it thought

it was a kitten.

Now,

the lion knows

it’s a lion

terrible

in its power

able to kill

and love

at the same time

compartmentalized

and satisfied

integrated

and whole

the lion walks at night

in all its pride

between the old and the young

between buildings

and trees

between this life

and the next.

It’s not where the lion stands

that matters

but the fact

that it knows it’s a lion.

It’s not going to be caged

or put away

or told to go somewhere else.

It was told it was harmless

a kitten

It was told it needed milk

a place to curl up

by a cozy fire

and people to take care of it.

But now,

the lion takes care of itself

because it knows

it’s a lion.