Willows, Pond Glitter

In the place of the drowned, above the black bruise of a

pond

giving its most indifferent shrug at dusk

you have seen this but you did not see between shadows

„ what it was and the reason, simple enough,

wakes you in the sowing dark

where the leaves fester in storm. On the edge

of the willows leaning together like shy schoolgirls,

the silver flank of the sunfish

in molt the color of oatmeal still arches stiff and hurls

back the hot light streaming through the heart

of hill-warped maples, hurls and twists

from each scale set into position by the spring's

secret and implacable desire

a few flowing rays of light you saw but did not know

must follow you into the bedroom calmly swimming

in that pulse of the far-off lightning.

The eye, glazed and womanly swollen, in mud

tilts now like a sinking rowboat as sheets of water climb

through willow and maple and surely you sense

something thrash as the nippling water sucks

down the hanging last drops on leaves.

The reason, oh it is simple enough, but you can't

understand

why this discovery of the world, this small ghost,

should make you want to cry out to God

who, at the window, you have looked for as if you

believed.

I have seen you, huddled by the woodshed, my apron

held fully over my face but the light behind

you coming anyway clean through.

Here I am, me, sitting down in water and afraid to cry out

what I have seen and you have seen and nobody

understands, that enormous hunger.

I swear I will come back if you can tell me what it means

to hear the world belch its ugly answers clear as the truth

a child would be too scared to lie about.