The Crane Fly 24.01.2012.

The Crane Fly.




Last night, you tiptoed

along the curtain rail.

Your cabriole and caper

swept you

into a dark corner.

Here, you reached

your final resting place.



There was no

crash landing

this time

away from the

dizzying heights,

the lights.

There was no more

ditzing or

trampolining.



Instead you put out

wavering sensors,

touched down

quietly,

cushioned by

your landing legs.



I left you there,

settling over your

undercarriage,

pleased to give you

respite after all your

uphill toiling.





I was a little afraid

of the dancer in you

as a child.

After all, you were

so much bigger

in those days.



Still, I never wished

you dead; I had rather

that you would float

free on scissor-legs, away

through the

window gap I always

left you for your

Great Escape.





Was I afraid you

would brush my cheek

in the dark?

Did I think you would

scare the living daylights

out of me?





Now, of course,

I realise that there

are much bigger

things to be

afraid of.



Now I realise that

you couldn't hurt a fly.