Shortly after Six O'Clock After the Solstice by the Pool

Heraclitus, “the Dark One,”
Faulted water,
Reproaching it
For the soul’s death.

But who besides water,
When perfectly still,
Seizes and paints
The shades so well?

And yet how little time
We have down here,
In this moving world,

To see and contemplate
What water can reflect
Of a sunrise orange burst.