Crescent Vision

Alas, these are times most strange,

for blue fish fly forth from the eyes of strangers

as lightning passes between the fingers of black-haired children.

And that is not all,

for the dogs cry, “Earthquake!” though the sky is clear and the trees are still as peacocks.

I have seen peaches strutting through the parks,

their fuzz turning into polywogs in the sun.

Expect soon an outburst of frogs

whose sweet aromas strum a melody

not unlike a grappling hook

or the teeth of a mole.