Pond Song 3.54

Openness such that it seems there is nothing there, but the nothing is the silence into which the fulness of the reserved divinity is worded.  G&B 274

meadowsweet all battered__old oak branches hang broken

that microburst hit home__crazy words stick once spoken

the pond almost empty__not a pond really a pool

child of sea and moon__a gull takes short steps to feel

good stuff on the bottom__the Sabbath silence sings

neighborhood crows and sparrows__the way a boy’s bat pings

New Pond Song 3.53

The human . . . is the indwelling of the transhuman. G&B

pond full tide going out__bright scum broken clouds

ducks asleep on dry rocks__chemical bloom crowds

the shallow end hic sunt dracones__swimming against the current

a small mallard head blazing__that dark green heaven sent

New Pond Song 3.52

There can be dialectical idols  G&B 271

high clouds in the mudflats__an egret turns in a pool

this thin white vertical__a day people call beautiful

there’s a bench in the bright sun__a young man sits at an angle

there talking softly to himself__the egret flies with legs adangle

Pond Song 3.51

Hot spell and nothing happening__a pond full of hazy skies

air thickens in tall grasses __beach roses flutter in the breeze

and a bee is thrown off course__where the tide left algae bloom

a swallowtail zig zags__space opens another room

a slight switch in the ordinary__ there’s an invitation to just sit

things sway in unsteady strangeness__not as I’d imagine it

Pond Song 3:50

There is no identity that is the measure of the original. G&B 271

steady hush in fresh oak leaves__far away traffic above

my head as I sit here thinking__there’s nothing I’m thinking of

but requires a new strange “is” __when I look up suddenly

the egret has left the pond__a tern twists away to the sea