WALLABY

through the strict upright trunks

of the forest

a wallaby snug in its fur

wrapped in its fear

waits rotates its ears

longs to reach down

for the morning wet grass

 

I watch from my bed

the turning of a page

alerts it to my presence

alarms it sufficiently it flees

silent slow motion bounds

 

the view returns

a sentinel forest

the page I’d just read

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