Totem

the barred owl

perches

for hours

on the

statuary of

a laughing

frog set

years ago

by one now

gone on

this tiny island

at the center of

our small

pond

watching

sometimes

focusing its

fierce

indifferent eyes

in our direction

with a

90-degree pivot

of its

fabulous

head

telling us

as if

heaven sent

to listen

to what we

know

inside

and in

the silent

vernal twilight

not to

puzzle much

over where

the peepers

went