Yesterday
It’s as if the past had taken physical form
and stepped into the present to greet him:
small, light-brown eyes, a tail that’s seen
better days, the forepaws holding a nut
they want to shake the sound from.
The squirrel stares him down
from a neighbour’s shedding tree
while he stares at what he cannot name.
Unlike other creatures he’s seen this morning,
there’s no desire to take its shape
and lose himself in a tighter skin,
the dizziness of impending change ...
He wonders how it tracked him down.
What binds the space between then and now?
Copyright © A lost Poet | Year Posted 2024
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