Wednesday, April 29, 2015

a chipmunk

a chipmunk and I

the chipmunk flits from under a rock
to a hole below a root,
then quickly from his underground world
through his outside world, as a blur,
then she freezes as if in pose,
till a quick shift to consider
my change in her world,
we stare at each other, neither moving
for about a minute,
then we both are off,
away from that intersection,

for her I was but a potential threat,
once gone from her presence,
gone from her thoughts,
whereas I still feel 
the enigmatic touch of her eyes
and the blur of her speed.

by Henry H. Walker
April 17, ‘15

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