This gentle depression
was little more than
a sag and slump until
the torrentials of April
swelled this hollow into
a pond. Now, bulbous
and gelatinous masses
of shimmering silver
eggs cling to submerged
branches. Tomorrow, a red
eft will flame from this
pool, orange shocking
into this tawny land.
Tomorrow, a wood frog
will intone into evening,
a cardinal croak, refilling
our saturated world.
Sean Prentiss, Woodbury
This poem was written for the Verse-Village celebration of April Poetry Month.
