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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