Observing a Lizard

He is only
a grey skittering
movement
on the face
of a sunripened stone.

Offering his presence
in the morning’s
tall heat,

slowly contemplating
the sting of red dust
from this dirt track,
a huge unforgiving sky
and the faint scent
of gasoline.

After small consideration,
he turns, in the flicker
of an eyelid shutter,
into memory.

These small instances
of loss
are measured
in acceptance
of constant flux
or the myth
of choice.

As violet clouds congregate,
only the sudden
emptiness of air
remembers him