Ice On the Pond

Which breaks into chaos, the landscape To once again manage the seams come undone The woken root, rage in the leaves for what The commonplace did in passing. What is Underground should not be brought back; too much Of the dark taken up and the world learns To depend on what gathers, as if for the first time And in wonder. So when she whispers, When she gospels you along the trail, remember None of it stays exact, even if the moon repeats In relentless trees, the angle each night Measured. What becomes a melody carried Into sleep, or to wake by, is only on the mind Seeking to have something take hold for once.