There were a couple frogs that made a sound
from in the ditch. I stayed up all night long
in her, we sighed about modernity
and its tropes. The frogs made a broad chorus
with cicada, it was like a music
swelling and fading. I told her what
I felt, how I desired her, the need
I have for ripened fruit. The dew at dawn
finally condenses, she had a quick
and deft reply to advances. I ate
the air and sheets, the morning is when I
pass judgment on her, weigh out the unseen
she is. The bending heaven turned blue
as day began, the frogs were silent.
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