The golden and extraordinary frogs eat us
bug-less — gloriously — then vanish somehow.
But all over us this spring, mosquitoes,
returned, and triumphant, the low chorus
from the pond just memory, replaced
by a buzzing that sears through our ears
and bloodies — devours — our limbs and faces.
Carnage on our decks. We’ll stay inside, mostly,

hereafter. What’s happened to the frogs? Remember
when we had frogs? Do you suppose this is just another
extinction? …What are frogs? the children sputter.
Our screens chewed through, we flee blanketed and hurtling
toward our car — but where go? — those animate engines
at our heels (in the rearview mirror, My God! what’re those?) —

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