Marjorie A. Buettner...

The Poem as Animal

I see it rolling on the floor in a spot of sunlight. It stretches and luxuriates, slowly closing its eyes.
Sometimes when I reach for it, it curls underneath my fingers and arches its back, sparks flying into the air--those times it is all mine. Other times it ignores me totally, pisses on my clothes and tries to escape into the wild. I remember, then, that this animal is by nature wild and untamable and I am hostage to its needs.

shortest day . . . a zigzag of tracks in the snow

WHCHaibun 2009-12-17