The bed cuts in two below
the double hung window
a winged grass summer
recruited fellow enters
follows hollows spends
the sun day in tiered
bell bottom cuffs.
The light suspended night
emerges sounds now audible
flushes waterflow distances
scratched glasses niblings
windowsill paint flakes
scent trail antennae erect.
Crawling to the bed
an 18 wheelerlegger
seen from 8 miles high
climbing the Grapevine
downshifting in the heat.
Slithers up the sheet
the fan worrying wakes
you just in time to see it
climb across the bed
to my side where
you let me sleep.
The Coming of the Toads 