Two Ponds in March
We stand now where two roads diverge . . .Rachel Carson
All full of us and what we are no more
you catch our faces and old shoes.
This year has been a cold one, yet
unfrozen, occupied, and sure
of life and light in such a doubtful season,
Pond, were you ever frozen? I forget.
Silent, steeped in mist, you spill good news
and keep your secrets, hidden springs, and reasons.
Too full of us and what we never were
and sick of all comparisons and faces
like a dead prophet beneath the snow,
this pond sees nothing. Master
of light and distance—closed to me—
what sullen heart of winter broods below
stirring the unborn? What darkness graces
this mirror—an act of mercy?