By Margaret Aitken


Crawling around crevices,

You creep.

A toddling bug, what are you doing here

in this space of glass and plasterboard?

Alone, no other bug to befriend,

Are you looking for connection or solitude?

I wonder what meaning lies behind spots

Of inky black on shiny red.

A message to pass on?

From who?

From where?

You catch my eye despite hurried distractions.

My mind slowing; the spin like a roundabout in an empty park.

It stops at a settling thought.

We are all toddling along.

A speck on a map so large it can’t fit on one sheet.

I feel grateful to see you,

Then you crawl away,

leaving questions,

and answers.