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
