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

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