The Red Gate

what does the bullfrog know

when the wind spins so green so vast so certain

in its existence

when it grasps at the edges 

of the secret pond  

its black clouds carelessly skimming

reeds bending to their knees

broken leaves trapped in thick mud

the deep throated frog calls in echoes to me

I look away 

in the distance 

the red gate remains 

as it always 

was

jppestana

The Red Gate

5.18.2021