A Single Expert Thrust

 

 

Ferguson Brook widens and slackens

into a pond fringed with marsh grass.

We’re tentative here, the ground

uncertain, hummocks monumental.

 

We kneel and explore the shallows

for crayfish and minnows. Clouds

sail across the equinoctial sky

and admire their pond reflections.

 

We’re simpler here, discussion

muted by the lack of birdsong,

of which we’re too sadly aware.

Our philosophies fail to engage

 

a landscape so modest yet rich

with complex shades and shadows.

There: a lone minnow prowling.

My shadow frightens it away,

 

its swim skills bold and absolute.

I wish I could move like that

and part my chosen medium

as if stepping briskly onstage

 

to act a finely textured role.

A heron might claim that minnow

with a single expert thrust.

If I stabbed myself with a twig

 

I could mimic that natural process,

but surely you would spoil the effect

by bandaging me thickly enough

to conceal my childish motives.