The Lizards in Orlando

It's strange the many worlds around me.

From my porch, I hear the hurry of mosquitoes,

cicadas chatting with neighbors

on the next limb. Two wrens argue

about their unkempt nest. So loud, they fool me

into believing there's nothing more.

But in the grass, a world of lizards run.

What seem like dried leaves are sometimes lizards

playing tag. Their mango-colored tails

against poppy-blue stones are clues I miss.

I walk right by - they could kiss the thread

in my shoes. Every now and then, we bump,

one skits across my toes. And I always shriek,

startled that I didn't see all who walk beside me.