I drag despondent patterns outside sleep-
less under a benevolent sky. Why
do I cringe to harvest what’s planted deep
in the mindset I’ve cultivated? My
creations snug under this existence
laborious and weighted cogs–I pause
to rescue a frog who distrusts my dense
clumsiness, each attempt shows gaping maws.
He declines a frisbee, boogy board, net
at my behest, unwilling guest, each trap
a miracle perceived as certain death.
And how am I the same? Plucked out and tapped
and frozen under tiny wildflowers
who’ve pushed up from thick mulch to praise the day.
I breathe into the lessons. I devour.
I click. The frog has still not leapt away.