ring 3 wm

This pond vibrates a gentle hum
while I approach, brimming with water.

Frogs grumble in agreement
yeeaaahhh—they croak—yeeaaahhh
while the sinking sun slips silently;

a wary deer riffs a dressage
through still-dry grass crackling
crunching last autumn’s detritus,

unsure of me—if I’m there or where
aware of herself and sure I am near.

She stomps a cautious passepied
punctuated by huffs and snorts,
in four-direction demonstration.

Frogs grown silent pick up again,
a softer, longer yeaahhhh.

Birds lull low in the dimming light.
A fish smacks one last snack.

I came to cry, but forgot.


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