It’s there for me,
poised for my reflection,
the mouth of the pond
like a deliberate man or a god
welcomed by nature,
a door frame to measure the growth of my spirit.
.
Once, it was witness to a painful conversation.
We sat facing the ducks
she looked at me,
I looked at her,
and when that got hard,
I looked at the pond,
painful truths reflected.
.
Later, the blind comfort of mother and son
walking ‘round winding paths
feeding crusts to pigeons
they and the pond and the park were constant,
revealing the vast inconsistencies of myself.
.
Then, a friend and I conquering a rock
as it rests by the water,
pushing each other to the top.
It listens to us laugh
like little boys after school.
He plays music I don’t know
so the pond listens for me.
