that flits and flirts
then fades as the shade
on a summer’s day. I back up
like my bathroom tub. Rub my

eyes in disbelief.  If only I were
a better thief! When he comes up
close and stays still I smell
the daffodil he’s lying on. I feel

his spots soft as a fawn. I see the orange
marmalade. But then he turns
and flies away –
just when I was about to
land him! My hand as steady

as a napkin that sits and waits
to be useful. Maybe I’m juvenile to
believe that it doesn’t pay to roll up
your sleeves.