The Salamanders

It is November

and raining hard, again,

enough perhaps,

for the salamanders

to emerge from their long

waiting patiently underfoot

By droves they crawl,

sometimes miles, beneath

the beating rain, bound

for the pools of their birth,

navigating by stars,

or some say by magnetism,

but truly, no one living knows

for sure, exactly

what it is they track

Few suspect it could be

simply love