tadpoles springs and wells
the waiting game
first there was christmas
then there was the new year
then the slowly days
cold wet dark long days when
nothing eyed the moon clouds
not even a glimmer
yet a thought stirred in the jam jar
a washed thought from last year
pupil wide in its awe some
frog spawn trifled somewhere deep
asleep since the since days
before that summer
when they walked away
remembering what was not lost
those fists of wobbly springtime
early mind you some years
better check in the running
across the fields of hope
to the red well and the spring pool
where they will be
where they will be
there they are
didn’t i tell you
didn’t i tell you
home to the tank of watching
until their legs escape time
and off they go into the warm grasses
as i brush myself off my knees
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