The only way forward in the summer’s high-pitch frog trills
starts with standing still. Stay within throb-pulse volume
until it affects our blood flow, all the way
to violet-purple before night. Wait
for desire to happen. Add to the frog excitement
the leaf-stir, the river-flow.
Wait for the stars to appear from clouds
like sleepy children yawning. During this late hour,
every sound softens any terrible story,
the universe murmurs with frog-echoes,
chanting and naming their incredible desires.
One step into this magic will never be enough.
It will be alright if we stay longer, return more often.
