god

,
As a child so high
I remember how
you'd spend a
summer's Saturday
morning rising
following along
an alley fence
on and on, in song
with a netted hoop
that you would
from time to time
SWOOP
o'er weedy scrub
that clung against
the weathered slats
in hopes to catch
a butterfly
which would startle
as you'd pounce upon
and watch it fight
to gain its flight
till capitulation
was in sight
and that's when I'd
upturn the net
and set it free--
and now you know
that it was me


A simple "spill" written with a friend in mind taken by suicide.