Screened window open,
the roar of frog song enters
on the back of darkness,
fills the bedroom with otherness.
People in Botswana call this
a cry of joy, uncoordinated hysteria,
a celebration of being alive,
a fully experienced presence.
These creatures need
only mud, bugs, and each other,
tadpoles a testament they comprehend
the purpose of existence.
A boy of nine learns
much from night music,
sometimes he learns
to be is to be nothing,
to float away on amphibian sound,
to fade into darkness, to sleep,
without worrying what the night takes
away from the world while shadowed.
In the morning, the window
is closed, soft light replaces
bellow with birdsong,
and the day asks nothing
of what the night sang.
Terry Jude Miller, lives in Houston, working in academia. His poems have received multiple Pushcart nominations. One of Miller’s poems will appear in the December 2025 issue of Rattle. Miller is the former 1st Vice Chancellor of the National Federation of States Poetry Societies. https://www.terryjudemiller.com. I’ve been kissed by a princess or two.