Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Hilda Morley, "The Lizard"

The lizard’s heart throbs
faster than mine through his
green spots.
                           With prehistoric
claws he seeks his shelter
in the shadow of the vine,
                                             his head
to one side in watchfulness.
                                               Measure it:
observe the suspense. He is
anchored to it—the fear of danger—& we are
anchored to nothing.
                                    Though the Spaniard finds
in San Juan Bautista’s effigies his satisfaction
without knowing why,
                                      we seek out the mystery: to learn
                                                               to care
and how much,
                              for even the bicycle
on the white wall may be a glyph
                                                                   and magical
                                             But my heart
beats slower than the lizard’s,
the dead to rise up
our own tears to bewilder us.

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