Thought Chameleon

The chameleon was late in coming
Green atop a white terrace wall
He looked a leaf in a clean sky
Only his intentness moved
one to observation

Intense as his
Prey invisible --
was it a gnat
or a thought-sprite

No shadows come on a terrace wall
Under a tropic sky
Nothing moves green in the wind
The stillness of noon
The stillness of preyer
and the preyed

Then suddenly the leap the
burst / First the rush
to sprint
along the line
of a wall / The sprint of prey

No shadow here
only the leaf the sunless sky
bright as a bone picked clean
the prey made visible
-- this poem late in coming.