The stillest ever frog
each bulge of mud and toe
set like clay forks.
The creek's skin
set around his back legs
in a hind-frog mould.
When I think he will
leap away at my movement
his eyes retreat, sag.
The lovely balloon of frog
deflates and flattens
to a wrinkled sack.
Like a horror dream
folded by the current
the sodden skin sinks.
A giant water-bug remains
his liquefying poison makes
bones and flesh a milkshake.
He has sucked
his breakfast bag dry
of pulped life, vanished animals.
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