The Lizards in Orlando
It's strange the many worlds around me.
From my porch, I hear the hurry of mosquitoes,
cicadas chatting with neighbors
on the next limb. Two wrens argue
about their unkempt nest. So loud, they fool me
into believing there's nothing more.
But in the grass, a world of lizards run.
What seem like dried leaves are sometimes lizards
playing tag. Their mango-colored tails
against poppy-blue stones are clues I miss.
I walk right by - they could kiss the thread
in my shoes. Every now and then, we bump,
one skits across my toes. And I always shriek,
startled that I didn't see all who walk beside me.