by Anita Sullivan
Frog! No!
Two assumptions in a
split skirmish.
Second stomps out first
like a fire
although they emerge
as one.
Dried oak leaf on the path
exact size,
curled, supple, back-sloped, diffident,
poised
as a Pacific Chorus Frog (wrong color)
but
not imagined
not disguised.
Yesterday, tomorrow
might have been
Frog? No!
But today equal,
no tilt.
Could blame the adolescent light
banging around among
the lichen, now exposed
in the winter oaks. Or
deep and chronic
frog-hunger
aroused under the heart-rock
keeping the balance right.
No comments:
Post a Comment