frog_blood

rising early
or late
or last night

but all the same.
when the cranks extend for my legs
and my toes recoil,
sodden, sad, soporific

cooooooooooooooooooooooold
.
the wind, is partly to blame.
the sock, is partly not balm.

an artificial double negative
spins spins spins.
down there. down hill.
where the water could collect
if the winter would not state its reasons
and back again.

my
frog instincts want to keep me in
a bed of mud warm blankets