One day last week
I was overwhelmed (more
than just one day, really), so I went out to the yard,
found a tree frog, stared
for about an hour. She (I could tell by the white throat)
stared at me, too.
We didn’t talk. (Did she know me as I did her,
Hyla versicolor?
(and why should she have? I do not know the names
mountains and rivers
call themselves.)) I fed her a caddisfly;
she plucked it, alive,
from my fingers.