Botanical Garden

A wave of tiny frogs-

each smaller than a thumbnail-

sticky, throbbing green and

utterly new,

they hop

(impossible!)

out of unseen water.

Simultaneous

in their thousands-

they stream across the wispy steam

of a cool night turned warm morning.

Half-blinded by sun, I stop-

excitement and dread flutter up-

what is coming?

How will I be?

Too long polishing devotion-

upholding a defunct agreement-

can I move out of dream?

Can wonder flow through my being-

carry away fear on its back,

expose what is naked and slippery and true?

Will you meet me here,

where we chase awe, gasp at its beauty-

can we show up

in our animal skin,

in our wildness?