snapping at butterflies by Will Griffith

dragging the old dog

through early morning,

I notice each step shoots a tremor

through her soft hind-quarters.

there’s no return to puppy days

snapping at butterflies,

but there’s still time

to catch some wisdom

in a long-armed net,

still time to parry nettles and stings.

track the river to a pool

of follicled water.

there you will find her

spiralling indifferently,

taking daredevil inclines

like a veteran stuntwoman.

see how she glides

over present,

animating the past.

see it all again:

see it with new eyes

and a cabbage-white mind,

tensions melt,

wingbeats quiet lingering tremors

in one undivided flight,

in and out

of wild, wild grass.

---

Will Griffith is a poet, teacher, and jazz aficionado. His favourite past-time is learning new instruments and attempting to play the blues on them. He has work forthcoming in Amethyst Review, The Chamber Mag, and Reach Poetry (Indigo Dreams). He sends suspect verses into the twinstasphere @bunglerbill .