may pond, 2&3

17 may

which will I remember for you—
grass-grown gravel track away
from constant surge and pass of cars
in bright sunshine; eight ducklings
tumbling in still water beneath the bank;
willow’s huge grateful shade; one tractor
loud-plowing this last possible acre
among apartments, hospital, shopping mall


18 may

all ducklings aground
in hidden huddled shelter;
gust-ruffled water


spring pond


the ground mud-soft, so
over there a fence goes up
around the playground
(out with the old and in
with the new); the sidewalk trees
have fresh-cut eyes; smoke
of the prairie-burn drifts north
with this craze for nesting
these fussy pairs of geese


you follow the beacons
of bud-blaze, red

find, mud-still (mud,
still—) a man is fishing


february pond, 2

the man—white hair, red jacket—
in golf cart gleefully sweeping
the hillside, full speed
(full gaggle, the birds lift
from grass and sun-sparked water
hang just overhead, then wheel
away into the distance, raucous
now driving my direction
he asks if I want some geese


still, I consider the pond’s ruffled surface
while the wind-fluffed sparrow, shrub-top
eyes me with suspicion