Not by killing or through her own fragility
by bringing in lizards from the garden.
Play things. Hidden under the rug
she gives them away
with her sniffing interest.
Mostly I coax them onto the dustpan
to carry gently outside. Or I find them later
dusty in corners and stiff.
Heads curled under
tails missing
light.
So light the breeze takes them
before I make it to the rose bush.

Ooh yes! Lovely, lovely, lovely … I love the way it ends – and everything else as well – but particularly, the way it ends.