The goanna freezes with one leg
up on the short wall's stonework,
its front claws clutching the top
as we pull into the parking space.
It still does not move as we exit
the car and watch it watch us,
a silent fascination
that draws us close
even as we dare not move in.
It does not move, half ascending
as though we stopped its prison escape.
Eventually, we gather the bags
and slam the car doors closed.
As we shuffle away through the dirt,
I glance back to find it still in place,
as though it has a higher opinion
for its camouflaged scales.
I return a moment later,
just wanting to watch,
to take in the shape, the colors,
the angles and lines,
but all I see is the end of the tail
disappearing beneath the building.
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