Soak

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Soak


Frog songs, again

hullabaloo, then quiet.



The crowd doesn’t stop them—

everyone out there, belching 

signature discordant croaks.



The crowd emboldens them,

Then strikes the listener deaf.

It’s stopped. Hear that? Nothin’.



Seems Nature has a maestro, 

giving all these soloists their cue.



Is it the fantom of an owl wing?

Or does a shadow, shaped blue heron,

stalk through pale marshes at night ? 



Or is it that— just like for the rest of us—

singing their hearts out is more delicious

when they take a moment to stop,

to soak in rest?

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