Poetry

He came from a fissure
in the brick wall,
a small creature
with a open mouth
and forked tongue,
moving its eyelids
and scales gleaming
in the early morning air.
 
His blue head caught my eye
where he laid in the sun
as if trying to catch the first
hot rays
and when I grabbed for him
I was left
with the twisting tail in my hand
and the rock-lizard disappeared
back from where he came.