Curate, connect, and discover
plopped into cool water, my manus flattens against the stone below as a bowl upturns like a dome above.
my marble eyes ring with the warning of moonlight, my skin glistens, slick with sage-
i peer at my greenhouse, pads reaching to press the convex glass, curiosity caressing my face-
but comfort follows me beneath the water, serenity tying me back to stone.
then steam clouds the cage; lids close off sight, then sound- suddenly, silenced, i muster one last croak. poetrycommunity
death by comfort // the boiling frog