grasping a shirtfull of stones
        lake bluer than the sky- such a thing
lapping salty, barely covering my feet
                                              cold but then

a part in the glass, far out
    gliding this way- slick like soaked

fur. squinting, harder/tigher now
    
                   letting loose and dropping
            my shirt, my dazzling catch
                       palms binoculars

what’s this? so I sit and wait
       forming prints in the wet
     with feet, hands- too ordinary.

impossibly, my mirage creature
          approaches, eyes locked
       on me and paws out of the

bluer than sky, circles the ground
       next to me and settles
               glossy beast.

non-confrontational by nature,
    i introduce myself
       and nothing.

       then, what’s this?

and with that my visitor rises and
  pounces on the wet earth,

two prints that he quickly
    licks clean, erasure

then mine. the sound of
                rocks cracking.

what’s this?  no sooner arrived
than split, towards the sagey hills

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