The Pond

Liquid light lingering on the lily pad bright with the remnant smear of Aurora’s telltale tears coalesced in the valley of the veins, shimmering as the sheets of summer rains Glistening tightrope trails, gossamer diamond paths entail such dangers near and far, out of blinding light and hidden in the deepened dark Delicate fates of tiny tik-tok walkers braving straits above cold gazes of the swimming stalkers Swirling slow and deep, silvered monsters creep swishing blackness thickened, weaving through the pondweed curtain Dancing waterlight, pale as cloudy shrouded moon at night Keeps chameleon covers over hungry things, gaping, waiting in the wings Pointillated edges leaking clues, of whispering waving lines in marshy hues Dotted with a hundred blinking crystal balls, windows to The Hours and all their sacred laws Balafonic tones whispered through the reeds of truths one never wants but always needs Dear watcher on the rim, face caressed by wistful mists that dance to whim on this theater in the round, thoughts of watery ghosts twirling, curling to the somber sound of muffled weeping softly seeping through the glittered fractal wisps of bloodless white and blue Cathedralic reaches, of the ancient ladies changing gowns with every season Fluttering sequins cast around, swirling down to land without a sound Adorning every wrinkle of this timeless place So richly hewn, yet by the wider world effaced