On the lanai, a tall glass of relief
within reach, I pretend not to notice
the geckos weaving their spell
They are crouching
under the chair, hanging up-side-down
from the railing, mounted
like picture frames to the wall
behind my head.
I’m not sure where to begin.
One has climbed to the surface
of a glass-topped table
and is staring, as if into a lake.
The bright green one
with a red spot on its back
has vanished. Just start, I say,
and the book falls open like a flower,
every page trembling.