No matter where they say it is, Frogustus finds joy his way.

He holds up his webbed hand. The sun shines between stitched scraps that became Augustus.

He doesn’t know whom he is asking or what he is asking. Who ever is listening, please tel them Frogustus called.

With webbed hand on his patches heart, Frogustus asks the moon for tenacity, to hold it together when threads need rest.