augury doggerel

Wednesday, May 08, 2002


This morning the pond is bubbling from under sunned skin, breathing out through green. Frogs or fish, I cannot tell which, leap half through the shine. Each is almost gone before I hear it. If fish, it moves mouth first through swallowing undulate murk. If frog, it settles, curled in weeds, shaded under cattail trunks, bulbing eyes peeled back and coil unsprung. It is both from here, where I spin with the insects and try to breathe.


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