I wonder if that frog thinks the world is just a fevered dream inside his pond… – or does his mirror reflect, in green- translucent shine, the way creation always meant to be?

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If the earth could spell tonight, I know the word that she would write for I have felt it in the wind— the dampness staying like a friend. In lonely highways—dark and stilled, spread out like pages to be filled— the little frogs come hopping through. I think that they can feel it too— the […]

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