A critter breakfasts on slain flies
Upon my doorsill, and when he is full
Chins himself on dwarf legs
And stares with cold saurian eyes
To fit me into his world.
I try to sound the lizard mind,
To stand one inch in flesh and thought;
I note his body is leather wrought,
I judge he is built tough to stay.
Could we swap skins I might be adamant,
But he would not endure the day.