A dead tree still standing, bare branches
breaching the summer sky, alongside road
cracking like skin, today walking an
unusual direction of the same path. Decay
cannot hide in a new perspective.
And
A cane toad, climbed a small wooden
garden wall, rested on the ledge, faced
towards me, watched me puzzle through
Ulysses. Two unwanted souls in the night
air.
Megan Porter Poetry 