at night when the frogs sing
they tell us of lost kings
many came
but one began
under so many clouds
a faith was struck
and to this day
deep under the muck
they breathe a beat
feeding the unseen
when the vines
ringed their heads
we knew it was survival
taking peace from what they did
planning her arrival
the gardener tends
and as he dies
the puzzled ebb
a beginning
married to an end
they can hear her running
across the snow
she can taste the slipping
in the rivers below
coming home
to her sideways equal
not knowing what remains
a crumbling chateau
the strange white rain
and one of language
master of
the apocryphal music
keeping time for no one
down in the belly
of the black
the thrilling loss
shifting shifting
under feet
jeweled eyes
opening
