A n n e   W a l d m a n :   K e e p i n g   T h e   W o r l d   S a f e   F o r   P o e t r y

N a p a l m   H e a l t h   S p a :   R e p o r t   2 0 1 5 :   S p e c i a l   E d i t i o n








In my basement a red toad breathes.

Each morning the urge to check his mouth persists.


Remember falling? Loons lifting, calling cries

then night. Sometimes wind still carries.


When we carry toad to garden, another appears down

stairs where each morning the urge to check his mouth.


Some warn poison, some claim truth.

Somewhere a turtle floats. Upon his back, world


spreads wide, water waits below. Declivity, it was

like this, the looseness caught so skull went pumpkin,


below sprung mush meal, legumes, lines swell more each dream.

Morning marks the seam of sky where we muster meaning.


Below the toad takes in everything. For me,

the urge to check his mouth –