Frog in Focus

Look through pictures you’ve taken
Of parallel worlds. All are,
In photographs—parallel

To whatever memory
Is up to with receding
Events on mental half shell—

The narrative has altered.
The narrative never stays
The same. The narrative.

Lost and Found

Once, and this is true,
A discursive ape
Carved symbols for words
In the form of prayer
On a clean, bright bone.

What the ape wanted
To know isn’t known,
Since, once it was burned
And carefully stored,
Everyone lost the bone,

Except for the ape
Who discovered it
A few thousand years
Later, who didn’t
Know the system.

Master Sonnet Turns the Lock

You were turning; you were
Bending; you were twisting.

You were bound and fettered
By the very writhing

Left you writhen. Dove home,
Breast warm, end days coming,

The bones that had a plan
Had lost their way, long since.

Propped yourself in your chair
Where you could spare far shores

A long, scrutinizing
Stare. Might as well live there.

No more swimming for you,
Isolated master.