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