On a morning when
I have much to do -
Listen for the one bird whose call
I can’t identify;
polish the spattered glass
where other avian suitors caught
sight of their one true -
(I will not say the word!)
Love.
On this morning I have
instead
wandered these rooms,
butterfly net in hand,
snaring
the juvenile flies swarming
my home on this sweet, heated day,
then releasing them one by one
(so many I lost count! I who at least can count,
though more complex equations elude me)
Into the garden.
It has taken me hours, it seems, chasing
them ‘round (though I lose count of hours
as well, there are so many) and, truly,
I have much else to do, my tongue
in cheek notwithstanding.
Where it once was in you.
I cannot promise I
will do no harm,
only that, as you might guess
from my endeavors,
I intended none.
Though evidently
I must learn to subtract
minus
one.