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