Pond Song 4.29

Now that we thread the edge of the ‘that it is at all,’ we prize newly the excess of life we also lived before mindfulness, and which is the absolute sweetness of simply being at all. 249

happy solsticial birthday dad__an early trip to this small pond

glassing and brimming with high clouds__in your absence the broken sound

of crows repeats the horizon__O silent one by watching you

I learned to play in solitude__today on the other side two

ducks swim apart out of the dazzle__and shatter they made of the shallows

where the tide pours in and out__voluble now but that’s how it goes