Pond Watching
Snapping turtles, when they spy
movement above, are curious-
They surface, or come close enough
that a kayaker will be pleased with the visit.
My shell is pink, my paddles plastic,
She is the shelled beauty with webbed feet
That help her move and turn,
pivot and dive, I can only do that above,
Like a water-spider, scooting in spurts
And then pausing, gazing down, always down
Where I freeze, in rowing motion, smile
and say hello, because the snapper
though hoped for, a chance sighting,
is never planned on; it is a love submerged.
This time, I fancy that I conjured her
without yearning, it must be done deftly.
If I search too much,
she will not come, but when I let go,
That is when she breaks the still water,
gazes up at me with those ancient, lizardy eyes,
Then slips under my old kayak
like a dream, a murky spirit,
Taking with her my clawing, reckless desire
To follow, deep and darkly, whatever is below.
0 Comments