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Waterstars
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Time hurries on The air is pregnant with Toricelli’s child
And suntouched white lilies dot I’s on the lake
As I sit, alone, on the shore
And envy the young mother mallard
Who glides on its deep, green depths
All among a million waterstars;
And it begins to rain.
When I remember summer, I dream of
Cattails, exploding in its last leg;
Harvest; and, yet, the first sign
Of Fall. Oh, and cool, long grasses
Beside the muckfields, where we lay at dusk
And waited, searching the sky, to see
Who could sight the first star,
Before the clouds rolled in.
