Chipmunk
A ping of appearance,
while the world skids on.
I expect Wiley Coyote to turn up,
but it is only chipmunk,
a little mousy hot-rod, tuned-up
to outrun perception.
Yours is the trembling electric instant;
truly you are a light unto yourself.
Murine wisp with whiskers,
always thrilled by your own survival.
The dead-stop of your arrival,
blurs my ken, then you are gone
while I wallow in an after-image.
You and your speed affirming
racing-stripes, always aquiver
to dart away.
Run tiny animation of the wind, run!
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