Pond Song 4.65
Communion does not reduce to a mystical monism. G&B 273
Atlantic warming more snow__sparrows flit through the gloom
between hedge and icewall__Thoreau’s ink froze in his room
then thawed to pearly gray__color of the sky now the pond
sunk in eye-watering glare__crows scrape by the sound
criss-crossing everywhere__there’s nothing to photograph
calls interrupt the silence__ I mean caws more than enough