Page 12 - flying stones
P. 12
the pond out back
after reaching the point of fainting,
you stop running
and for a whim
walk by the pond out back.
in the light rain
it looks more like a Monet painting
than the ducks’ retreat you know.
the hunter-green lily pads are slightly seen
beneath an ambiguous mist
that hovers above ringlets of raindrops.
each ring rebounds with arms encircling,
laced in white unison in Degas-like danse.
how fast and far you’ve come
to end up so suddenly in France.
