Camelus Domedarius
Stephanie Wolf
“As geographers, Sosius, crowd into the edges of their maps parts of the world which they do not know about, adding notes in the margin to the effect that beyond this lies nothing but sandy deserts full of wild beasts,
and unapproachable bogs.” - Plutarch
Regarded by those long, superior lashes,
What do I know in the face of a camel?
Comments of how hot, how dry it is,
Become absurd in his presence.
Spreading his toes thoughtfully
Across his home terrain, he knows
More than I could ever hope to
About the individual qualities of sand,
Tastes the difference in humidity by degrees.
I cannot discuss the moon
Without embarrassment
In the presence of Ata Allah.
The camel knows precipitation will not exceed
(perhaps not approach) ten inches this year
But this is not my domain,
And I reconcile that in these matters,
He knows more than I can.
Springtime sees hump hairs quiver before the molt
Five pounds, by all guesses.
Does the artist contemplate the desert
From which his brushes came?
Fitting into tips of paintbrushes, I wonder
Does the camel know where his hairs will end?
And I prop my flagging superiority in the finding
There are things of which I know, too.
