Sunday, July 14, 2019



Early morning placid sheen
Of an ovoid pond,
shimmery silver steel,
a reflective pool
in the already hot sun.
It’s lovely and all
but I’m always worried about the depth.
What lurks beneath?
How far would I sink
If I held my breath?
Could I touch the bottom?
Would I find only darkness
And lose all orientation?

No one can walk across water
And I wouldn't try, not even in winter;
the cold is no salvation.
You can’t trust the ice 
To bear the loads I carry