Frog in the city


It is strange she said that I should think of you so much
when there is nothing of you that I can hold on to
there is not a memory, not an experience
dreams yes, fantasies yes
of swinging legs,sitting idle, long silences
strange that I should think so much
of that ascent of your nose bridge
dividing the world into 2 halves
that half that you like
the half that you don't
I must definitely fall into the second,yet
when rains fill the pores of the earth
with soft wetness, the drum and drill of moist drops
I think of you staring into something I cannot see from here
I could never see, could I?
perhaps I will never, ever, seemingly
it is still nice to think of a face I think I know
than to think of faces that think know me well
oh, too well, fitting me in and out
a case of 'fitment', strange it sounds, except you stranger
even if it is unlikely like the unmelting of glaciers
the singing of the dodo or the thumping of the dinosaurs
the skies roar in thunder,gentle folds of approval
heard a frog croak after a long time
a frog in a city, now that is something!

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