BY NOELLE ADAMO

Woman one day went away
no one not even the birds of prey could find her.

They flew all the way to Haiti, Italy
and Africa to find her

but Woman went further,

leaping over mountains
with long legs that grew longer.

She spun the globe beneath her feet
all the way to the talking toads

where all was dark green blue purple and wet.

Here she disappeared and only some would glimpse her
through the jungle mist and muck

in this time of toad song.

Finally when she looked up to the sky
it was with her eyes closed

and in this way
she let in layers of light from distant stars.

As she did so her right arm lifted,
languid and quiet as seaweed

and softly peeled open her dreams.

Woman watched on, eyes closed.
Then her left toes quivered.

Her legs grew shorter,
rediscovering themselves as tentacles,

then her arm as a fin.

The fat ancient toads
surrounded her in circle.

Shadows swung in trees.

They immersed her in base tones
and overtones and arrhythmic pauses.

The toad song was all she could hear.

Sounds without shapes loosened
the string of her spine.

Woman spiraled through mud. Woman curled
around rocks and sprawled

over leaves.

Woman surrendered her hips
to their pink involuted tissue

and her skin melted away.

The toads watched on now,
all silent now,
all Witness now,

revealed and released
by the space
between her movements.

They emerged as Wave
while Woman dissolved,

the pools

all within her joints, knees shoulders
wrists fingers knees ankles toes,

invisible

but resonant to the sound of the rain.