We kept waiting by the pond, in the afternoon. The blades of grass
leading to the round liquid were bright. You could see our travel,
where we had pressed the grass down into a mat. In the distance
a curved row of gray timbers stood
and from them now and then
the birds lifted
while the water moved toward us in small repeated panels.
No one was near when I took your small hand in my own
and imagined the life I could not see,
the hidden organisms, responding to your thrown stone
that sweeps now through my chest.
© 2007 University of North Carolina Greensboro