Frog on water
I used to walk through woodland and wild garlic,
watch leap of frog, gold-green on water.
Touch nose to earth, to hear the inside of the forest,
crumple leaf against a vein that carries signs
of urban concrete. Blood and brick dust
chip away like grinding teeth of children
up-starting with night terrors who in daylight
would daydream in crosshatch, shade not colour.
The used to walk; which enters into all dreams,
terrors of small children transferred across
a loss of frog on water.