Pond Song 4.55
In the hyperspace there is an echoing otherness that perplexes one with the voice of another, other beyond all echo. G&B 267
the cold kiss of flakes__I wander to the pond
the Atlantic swells upriver__a lace of snow on the ground
ice drapes the spartina__light brims on the tide
far out in the middle__a few ducks darkly glide
pond songs 
Beautiful.
Thanks, Marion. That one gave me a scare a few days in. I had to rethink the whole thing to make it work, so I’m glad to hear you like it!
I keep coming back to this poem. It takes the reader “there.”