Isolation

Dan Albergotti

 
BPR 49 | 2022

The anole moved from hanging plant
to hanging plant, walking the wire
of the porch screen. He turned his head

to regard me when he paused, flared
his throat like a Japanese fan.
From here, we were too far away

to hear a ventilator’s rasp.
Too far to hear a mother’s sigh.
We seemed to listen anyway,

still as we were. As still as trees.
He blinked his eyes against the breeze.
He had a hand I couldn’t grasp.