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Stalking the Peeper
by
Judith Toy |
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Midsummer’s night, we creep outside in the moonlight
to follow sound -- the peeper, that usual chorister above
the mounds of mute ant kingdoms. Hum of interstate traffic.
The hoot owl cries narration, message from our past.
The grass wet on our sandled feet, we wait for the chorus
again, the string of speckled notes that flies through the dark
to our cupped and vigilant ears. We whisper as in a church
the warm cathedral of night, its high ceiling strewn with stars.
Our eyes wide as venuses, we find we can see in the dark:
discrete blades of grass, strings of black-eyed-susans on the verge
of bloom, rows of garden stones, those who sit night and day
wait, wait, while the lush circle of mountains holds us all.
“Here. The peeper,” he whispers. And there on the bark of
wild cherry the little one sings. My partner reaches to cup it,
hold it in the mountain of his hand, pluck it like a bud.
“See? Her feet are sticky. This is how she stays on the tree.”
Here in his hands, the prize of our hunt, here, the bug-eyed
cold-blooded, soft-skinned, sticky footed treasure we sought.
He replaces her on the tree, and I know in a way it is she
we have always looked for, in the dark, a small wild thing who can sing.
Judith Toy
Cloud Cottage
Full moon, May 2012
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--Submitted by Judith Toy on 2012-05-21.
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rowepoet:
WOW! YES! What a gem of a poem -- exquisite imagery! Thanks so much for posting. :-)
Posted 10/20/2012 01:08 PM
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