Without method we light on
A cranny of creation
Delicate as a breeze
Over marshy puddle land
Where crisp, dry grasses hide
Snake skins and beetle wings
And a tarantula with two legs gone
Dangles from a broken branch
Over the inlet.
My expeditious tramps
Are here and there
In twelve places at once.
Like multi-colored katydids
Under the tree –
Over the boulder –
Behind the thicket –
And cautiously creeping
At water’s quivering edge.
Near and far
And near again
In a matter of moments, for
Running is the only gait
Appropriate for our excursions.
Now stop and wave,
Shading eyes from the mild sun.
Now hide from cohorts,
Hair wild in the childlike gusts.
This is the warmest of winter afternoons
Where drowsy garters and lizards
Venture from rocks
And smell our breath
Before small voices reach them.
Reach for them,
And their half-awake tails
Unhinge in reptilian fright.
But we count all this gain –
Each incident fills the vacuum,
And builds a hunger
For days to come
Like this – or something else entirely.
© Tasha Chinnock 2009