Diabla

I have seen her
splashing murky waters,
calling up frogs and toads,
wishing to be kissed.

They crave her voice —
her princess ribbiting,
wooing the fresh lake water —
wet and rough in spring.

I have caught her skinny dipping
summer dashing,
climbing pines.
Skipping over rocks

and grassy sheaves.
Climbing high, I find her
finger-licking, tripping dizzy
Living mean.

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