The face of the water
has captured the season,
the passage of time,
and what it holds
it reflects to us
to see how little
or how much
in our turn
we reflect
of the current,
ongoing reflections
by means of which
reality like a lover
is bending smoothly
her back to us.
And the water face,
the face of our mind now
so rendered and seen
is made of blacks
and the whitest of gold,
where all are both
deep and plain,
thus ambivalent
when pensive
or vague, and so
welcoming,
open—
as water can be.
This very face of time,
the moment and the season
does mask and still
the faces of the eternal
as lovers do too
and as each over
another flows and moves
or is made to hold.
So like watery reflections
by light we too are cast
to quiver
in the dark.
Into the
presence
of poetry,
vanished
and once
more found
where
ancient gods even
may reappear
native
to the
self-same sparks.
