Misunderstood toad comes out of its closet
at night,
surprised by my light.
Halts.
Sends me a thought wave:
they’s no longer expecting me
to get his pronouns right
or to strip myself
and dress up in her colours.
Expecting
no pressure to change into mine.
Live and let live cries its bumpy
beauty.
As we both pour love for the beings
of even the breathless rocks.
And the scarred blue moon at its cloudy furthest point
surprises the surround darkness,
pouring for us all
a path to row unafraid
across the midnight pond.