Oh little
toad, once born over
The night’s mantle and rising signs
That
twinkling orbit giant, slower
Sigils of
impressed creation times-
When once
all things were not,
The void awaiting
its pregnation
Fiat dictated
from the highest spot
As little
toad waited, quiet, patient.
The son of
man was absent then,
But toad hid
between folds within folds
Behind space
and being made his den
And croaking
laughs at all our lesser moulds.
Little toad,
whose God wert thou,
And to whom
did you burping pray?
Was it the
Hittites, men of the plow
Who marked
your harvest holy days?
Protean
beast, marsh nugget,
Guardian of
the reeking bogs
Two natures
in one slimy bucket
Of flesh, a
noble toad, not petty frog.
Thing of
war, your horey sides
Edged with
ridges, saw blade spines
Deflates as
a waning connie dies
Slick
skinned, weapons within confined.
Mars and Venus
conjoined together
Within thee,
pond-thing rude,
O’er love
and war you’ll reign forever
And devour
grubs, the choicest food.
