Next to a small patch of grass
the bass vibrato emerging hides
a small tree frog somewhere within.
I see, on Facebook, people I once knew
now the moon-shaped faces of strangers
married, with children, praising god.
I hear my parent's voices when I call
slower, different, filling with the pauses
and shuffling cadence of time.
I return to the grass, the cool
crisp sun of the desert's early winter.
There is no sound but the distant hiss
a far off sprinkler, whose cool waters
must have flowed down, and for a brief
moment breathed life into this little world.