The jaguar in the jungle Hides in the light with the shadows of her coat Hides in the shadows with the light of her fur Camouflage colors Random expression of various genes that somehow, magically, manifest skin in the shades of her home Not imitation but sympathy A pattern too subtle, too varied to learn A mottle deceiving the eye A million hides for a million cats All of them perfectly flawed The cheetah in the savannah Sits in the tree and waits And wazungu in Toyotas watch Where? Where? Left, no left, no right, now up, no down, there, there Long lens click and whir and click The cheetah waits Once seen she is easy to see (How could we miss her?) But as she waits she is part of the tree Silent Hidden Now! She's gone Where? Where? Wind in the grass Eases to ripples Softens to swells Vanishes Wazungu wait Watching where they think she is And nearly nearly And then again she's gone No kill this time but gone Upwind of the antelope Ready to pounce Unseen in the light of the morning The silver rings I wear are presents from the universe This from Neil for a couple of quid These on the thumbs from Jane for Christmas, one acid-soaked season in Goa This with Dominique as part of a pair This from Mexico, I think, the Yucatan (Or was it Caernarfon? I have this sense of a little shop near the castle, with Phil before he met Elin … perhaps that was a bracelet? no matter, never mind) These from the Navajo outlet at the south rim of the Grand Canyon This from Heathrow (a part of the universe too, an unlovely part but still), the Past Times Shoppe but the runes were appealing to me (and the store to my sense of the ridiculous) Presents bought with money or love There were more, there were more The first from Jenny, a simple piece of silver with a pattern that wore right off in the end, just before the metal finally cracked And the band that I wore for a while between the joints of my middle right finger (or was that the same one in its dotage?) And a puzzle ring from Istanbul or somewhere And probably others, lost in the years Every one silver, none with a stone Some of them shaped, or patterned with black Half of them circlets, half open inside All of them beautiful All of them worn Ageing into something together more than they had on their own Neil has surely forgotten, it was part of the stock he was clearing when his first little shop went bust and he sold it off his finger on a visit to Perhap Mansions where I was living then, deep in the West of Ken Jane remembers, I'm sure of that, though Jane isn't Jane anymore Dominique has hers, on the other side of the room And the Mexican and the Navajo and the Brit in the airport, they were just doing their jobs But the rings remember, the rings are mine, as I am theirs Why do you wear all those rings on your fingers? Because I can't fit them through me nose (Never liked Ringo's much, didn't particularly admire that he wore them, he had no choice, they were just … him, part of him, and he no doubt of them) In my head of course I understand that a guy who goes around with rings on his thumbs and six more on his fingers is going to get known for it But it hurts when it happens "Sure I know who you are, you're the guy with the rings" Uh-uh Nonononono The rings are with me Mememememe OK? Everyone is the centre of a universe No one in the west wore rings on their thumbs Back when Jane had this pair made Almost thirty years ago (You see them on people quite often now, young people; they're still a little weird for fifty) I guess I might have said something Or maybe she just knew So she found a smith and got them made And gave them to me And I went WOW They're beginning to get thinner (I've worn them almost all the time since, and never normally take them off, not even to bathe or to swim) But they just better last me out And they probably feel the same about me I never go shopping for rings But sometimes I recognize one And we end up together Listen to this: it matters Yesterday I wanted to write about connectedness and the way we are what we are in and never know it, and I had thought to begin with the jaguar from Makhijani's book But when I sat down there was no jaguar in my mind Only rings And I went with the rings, and I didn't know why I didn't even think they belonged Today the jaguar returned And the rings suddenly made sense to me Eight rings to lead me, eight rings to find me Listen to the inner voice That's where poetry comes from And love And wisdom You know better than you know Never outguess yourself Savannah lives in the cheetah Jungle in the jaguar The light and shade of the world outside Expressed through the genes of the leopard (What coat shall I put on today? The winter fur or the summer cotton? The good Republican cloth coat? The high-tech waterproof? The butch denim? The tailored leather or the zippered bomber? Oh tell me, tell me, do I want to stand out or do I want to blend in? Is it out of vogue to be in vogue or are the damn spots out again? Something in a light tan for the drier grasses, milord?) Where does the outside end? The jaguar and the jungle are one and the same Home to each other Incorporate excorporate breathe breathe Jungle to genes, genes to fur, fur to jungle and back How does the jungle adapt to the cat? Mutate mutate transubstantiate Children, children, come and see Look, it's a cat in a zoo (No hat) That's not a cat, it's a leopard No it's not, it's a panther A lion (don't be silly) No, a jaguar, a jaguar Children, imagine what she's like in the jungle where no one can see her And here is a tree And here is a flower And here is a vine And here is a monkey And here is a snake (keep away from the snake, he'll swallow you right up and eat you for dinner today and tomorrow and tomorrow's tomorrow too) And here is a butterfly Isn't it pretty Here is a bird Look, look and listen to the song And here is a can full of smells, just press (we left out the bugs, you don't want the bugs) Now do you see what the jungle is like? Scary Don't be scared It's safe here Safe to look See? Is the jaguar happy? I'm sure she is, dear, plenty of food every day, none of that nasty hunting and worrying and, look, see, a space to run and climb See, she's smiling The jaguar knows but cannot tell The people tell but cannot know Which of them lives in this world? Those rings, those rings, don't they get in the way? Less than a necktie The jaguar knows how to live with the jungle Only that, only there, only then All of that, all of there, all of then Is there more? What are the shadows and light expressed in the wearing of rings? How should I know Any more or less than the jaguar knows Of the shadows and light expressed in the pattern of skin? The man with the bone in his nose The woman with the rings on her toes The people with paint on their shoulders and legs Why not? Ask me about the rings when I'm in the right kind of mood And I'll give you theories Overlapping, contradictory, superficially sensible, probably plausible, reasonably rational theories Looking at my body from the outside Like a scientist looking at the jaguar's spots And yes there might be a linkage Yes there might be a semblance of fact Yes there might be a logic Yes you might think yes And no No, that ain't so, my friend, no, that ain't so at all The rings just leapt from the world Onto my fingers Easy as suckling And as hard to explain Panthera onca facilitates both camouflage and optimal heat distribution through diversified coloration; sexy as anything, too Panthera onca swallowed a conker Found it as hard as Panthera pardus Panthera uncia could be a nuncio Sleeping all day like Panthera leo Panthera tigris swam the Euphrates Just to impress the Panthera ladies Panthera panthera burning so bright Panthera patterns give us a fright Panthera tell me, panthera do Did anyone make the jungle and you?