Surprised by my tasting the spring, a golden frog
leaps to the bank. He flies froggy places,
his ankle-joints stretch the moment.
A puddock from his pop-eyes to his paddle-toes,
he darts out of the vital pool. Immortal frog,
to see him so healthy is a sure sign
the spring will be the same for me.
He hops past my shoulder to the paddy-pipes,
the reed-bed pockets frog. He vanished though,
each spear of rush keeps its own drop of dew.
by Valerie Gillies
from The Cream of the Well: New and Selected Poems
Luath Press, 2014