Crooked Caulk Blues

Sent a little thought on a broad green leaf.

Put the whole pond underneath.

Banks and the branches,

the reason, the route— by the time it reached you,

the point fell out.

You gave a nod.

I lined up the leap.

You meant “I’m listening.” I heard “agreed.”

Just a ripple back.

Something through the reeds.

Did you catch the croak or just the speed?

I can hold a little.

I can hold my leap.

But there’s a lot of kicking where the water looks asleep.

Four on a log watching one fly land.

I’ve crossed the pond already in the plans.

You’re halfway through “there’s something you should know”—

I’m two leaves over.

Oh. Back I go.

Tried to keep it short,

swallowed half the sound.

Then explained the missing bit three times round.

You said “which lily?” I told you why.

Another little fly went by.

Just a ripple back.

Something through the reeds.

Did you catch the croak or just the speed?

I can hold a little.

I can hold my leap.

But there’s a lot of kicking where the water looks asleep.

My quiet looks easy.

My quick sounds cross.

Somewhere in the middle the little bit gets lost.

You pause. I fill it.

We both start—

ribbit.

Catch the croak…

Not just the speed… Through the reeds…

Just a ripple back.

Somewhere we can start.

You

heard a little thunder.

I meant to send a spark.

One

leaf. One thought. Still a whole damn marsh