I never saw more frogs
than once at the back of Ben Dorain.
Joseph-coated, they ambled and jumped
in the sweet marsh grass
like coloured ideas.
The river ran glass in the sun.
I waded in the jocular water
of Loch Lyon. A parcel of hinds
gave the V-sign with their ears, then
ran off and off until they were
cantering crumbs. I watched
a whole long day
release its miracles.
But clearest of all I remember
the Joseph-coated frogs
amiably ambling or
jumping into the air – like
coloured ideas
tinily considering
the huge concept of Ben Dorain.