... The thorny spears of the rose rage from all sides;
Toad soldiers rouse me from the dandelion...
Now the nightmare mire of the pollywog, the insides
Of the pond bottom... mud of centuries my dungeon...
When the Duchess of Moisture pronounces my sentence as she floats,
I think, 'this one will stay mine'... ; my dead father
Has become a frog I dream; "I know you," he croaks;
The pond mist settles; I need his caress here,
See where I'm hurt?... toad breathing near nightfall — no moon
Will come now... parachute throats, colors of helmets...
This tapestry will shroud me by the next noon...;
My executioner will come in moments...;
His web shivers...; a guard's bellow — now the jaws'
Blackness...; now the sentence ends...; thus I was.