what mosquitoes whispered

What I know of love, I learned from tall grass
on Coldspring road in the summer of 1977
the cattails were plentiful that year and before
they turned to seed, i dreamed of them

but they were out there across the pekoe water
rife with frogs and inch-long two-legged tadpoles
beyond the white granite rock covered in yellow-faced
turtles worshiping Apollo like good little Greeks

i would paint on the wax wings and fly to them
once, but then tearing them out i ran mud-licked
to Old Homestead and shattered the brown scruff
until seeds snowed sick on my thick boy tongue.

this was a lesson not soon forgot. thus i waited
for the waters to recede. for leaves to change
and the stark end of autumn to reveal the beauty
of that summer matted in soft beige hues

the turtles disappeared with the sun, and the frogs
stopped their singing too. i watched then
as a boy for signs of hope -- the first flakes came
and instead i realized despair.

the brown water alive, frozen so thick so quick so slick
i could tip-toe slide to that distant stone where recently
i supposed the turtles in their repose were bowed
in prayer. those dreams now shattered i passed

to the swamp grass carpet beneath the blizzard of
my inexperience, foot-slipped through the thinner
crisp -- i was icy cold and wet. still, i found faith
that seed of joy, so readily available below