L'obscurité première

  At the pond the young frogs leap with their new legs,
  small yelps of green. Sheer emerald.
  You can't imagine. You can't exaggerate
  that green.
  Or the surprise of the yelps and leaps.
  The way they disappear one by one into the pond
  as you aproach.
  Small emeralds of alarm,
  quick terror.

  I am prowling, my feet are damp.
  I am snatching at things to save my life.
  Wait! Where are you going!
  That child whom I never saw except in snapshot,
  and could not love,
  where are you going? Has anything happened until now?

          How small the soul, cupped in a child's hand.
          Held over the pocked water,
          ready to leap and sink and disappear.


      First dark, Joyce Carol Oates.