I believe in the mystery

I believe in the mystery,

—of what the frog choir sings

as they vibrate sound oscillating
breath from lung to vocal cords
in late summer evening light,
the throaty croaks in full sermon
at the pulpit of love.

—of how a wrist to elbow

measures the length of your foot,
or fingertip to fingertip is my height
And the width of your mouth
Maps the distance of pupil to pupil.

—of the steam rising from tomatoes.

Beans, grape, radicchio, cucumbers,
And basil after the mid-day heat-pour
Or the churning earthworm writhing
To the sound of five beating hearts.

—of the soulless men who’d peculate

Our children’s futures on a handshake
Rob their health for pocketed pennies
By those who love their babies too.

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