Tree Frog

by

Doug Larson

My heart drifts like morning mist
illuminated in scattered rays of sunlight
rare columns of gold that manage to pierce
the dense daily canopy of routine
that drowns all light
entombs my artistry
in parasitic murk
The jungle floor scrapes my tender underbelly
as I skitter among the bromeliads
seeking shelter under wide leaves
blinking wetly while my gecko feet sink
slowly in the sticky mud
Wistfully I am dreaming of evolution
the progress of ascension
the world of thin air
and light that gleams
out there
above the leaves
defying gravity and all insipid logic
where all things are bathed sensuously
in cool wind
and warm erudition
free flight under a limitless awning
of clean blue sky

A deep orange settles like dust
as the rain withdraws withering
into gas
my cold wet feet are suction sticky
and the bark of the soaring trees
smooth as glass

One sticky step after another I climb
higher and higher as the day falls lower
and lower until finally I break through
framed gloriously in wounded light as the sun
pinches shut the sliver
of a drooping scarlet eye
cobalt sky
fading quietly
to deepest purple-black
and raven’s wings

stars popping like hot needles
one by one through a reaper’s hood
pinprick illusions
of redemption

I recline upon a broad leaf
blinking wetly
casually licking my amphibious lips
nakedly exposed to the cold void of heaven’s breath
and manage a faint Mona Lisa smile as I drift away
buoyed softly on a cloud
somewhere high above the jungle floor
and far beneath
the distant spark that marks the birth
of dreams

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Man
by: Tony Spicuglia
from: Lompoc, CA, US

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