Completely protected on all sides by volcanoes A woman, darkhaired, in stained jeans Sleeps in central Africa. In her dreams, her notebooks, still Private as maiden diaries, The mountain gorillas move through their life term; Their gentleness survives Observation. Six bands of them Inhabit, with her, the wooded highland. When I lay me down to sleep Unsheltered by an natural guardians From the panicky life-cycle of my tribe I wake in the old cellblock Observing the daily executions, Rehearsing the laws I cannot subscribe to, Envying the pale gorilla-scented dawn She wakes into, the stream where she washes her hair, The camera-flash of her quiet Eye.