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I.

Yellow-jackets hidden in mud
in swamps, by still waters,
rose invisibly, hummed
around our knees, caked with mud,

when we went looking for frogs
that mated in murky ponds,
croaking in chorus. Our hands
smelled later of frogs:

we snatched their tacky bodies
and turned them over
to look at their white bellies,
whiter than our bodies.


II.

Boys are drawn to water
like zealous acolytes
to temples, anointed
by dark water

that stands too long, thick
with mucky green moss,
lichen, slippery stones
coated with slime as thick

as phlegm: freckled boys,
cowlicked, dressed in bold
striped pull-overs, mad
with the longing of boys

for dirt and tattered knees,
for the cloying benediction
of dirt and water. We wore
our wonder at the knees.