packed snow on the pond path

Pond Song 4.7


“We do not open ourselves; being opened, we are as an opening.” William Desmond Reader 202


packed snow on the pond path__a duck’s print  hard as a fossil

the mallard roots in the soft bank  __snow on the tip of his bill


something strange this cold Sunday__the grey above an apple tree

bent by snow twists and darkens__a murmur of birds comes to be


shape-shifting continuously__mind-blowing and mind-bestowing

the inner pattern of the flock__the spaces between them flowing




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