While cutting the weeds I see
a small bit of fur flash
along the fence.

A new species to me, I think,
something unexplored,
unknown.

The great question:

shall I chase it
or let it be, hoping
for it to be revealed
another time?

I let it go,
remembering the cautionary tale
of Columbus, recalling
that Audubon
killed what he documented.

Thunderstorm at dawn?
Too long since I’ve seen one.
This world is either reverting
or transforming.  
I’m going to follow along.

Follow its curves as they lengthen.
Follow its face as it darkens.

I’m set to make music to accompany this
using nothing but my lips and my terror.
It’s a good set of lips
and a singular and useful terror,
the same one that led to 
sharpened stones and the like.
The same one that led to 
what brought the thunderstorm in
before full light.

I don’t even have to get out of bed to chase the change —
if I still had dreams, it would be in there too.
As I don’t, some rough sleep
and twilight thought
will do fine.  It never really
got light this morning, after all,
and who knows if the changes
will allow for such a trivial comfort —

I may as well begin to adapt.