A Tree Frog in Oklahoma

The pipe was rust encrusted
an upright tunnel in which a tree frog crouched
peering out at the day
He was the size of my thumb
and his eyes rolled in different directions
leafy branch left
human right
He appeared casual and noncommittal
his arms folded under his chin
like a tiny executive taking a power nap
but the skin he wore!
Something of grays and greens
ochre whites and muted blues
and on this surface his eyes like leaves
on a mossy pond
and he was intelligent
he had not builded himself a house
but his intelligence was a thing of a primal nature
for he had fashioned for himself
this skin-cloak
so very like the tree 6 feet away
that had he been there
I would not pick him out
But hiding was not on his morning's agenda
and so he rested, trusting the rightness of things
against the perfect contrast
of a rust red pipe