On the first day of strong sun in May, I notice
a broken limb on the forest floor, a strip
 
of blonde wood splayed toward the light,
and on it a lizard, length of my hand,
 
re-threading its blood in midday warmth.
As I approach, it keeps motionless,
 
eyes bright, neck striped. It sits
the way messages are left in conspicuous spots.
 
In a nearby marsh, mallards brood in hidden nests,
and unseen frogs in congregations pulse their songs.
 
I lean closer and under one armpit
of the lizard, I see beneath the skin
 
a tiny heartbeat throb, and instantly
I see the animal in me.   


© by Eric Forsbergh.
Used with the author's permission.