Out of the heart they climb in trunks
into cold sweeps of wind and ocean
rain waves hearing for the first time
trains pausing at the rotting depot.
The silence catches our attention
creates expectation who will get
off who will go away who has come
home to stay surfboard on hip.
Some succulent and juicy tales
and coffee of the road cafes
the strands swept with sand
the cold duffle bags for beds.
Nothing much at home has changed
the cat has slowed to a crying crawl
Mom wears her frayed shawl all day
long and Dad looks like he hears
a screaming coming across the sky
the strain of the streets texted
into the ether a cartoon masks
his bowl of nuts cracked shells.
His heart opens like a walnut
two halves and one have not
together all three squirrels come
to rest and stay the cold season.
The Coming of the Toads 