Whenever I approach the frogs,
………….after the night sky has drifted
up from the bottom of the pond,
………….they all go still, invisible, mute,
as if song were light and silence shadow
………….and their fragility my own.
So this is how death must feel,
………….leaning in to touch a child’s face
who vanishes, as nightmares do,
………….before the light can see them.
Far as I know, the frogs are the story
………….their chirping tells, and I
believe, seeing at the water’s edge
………….only stars where I dare not step,
hearing in every corner of the park
………….the pulse that dims to take me in.