The water runs in streaks of glass,
A rippled, undulating sheet.
Beneath it, stones in earthy mattes
Of taupe, bleached ochre, and cerise.
In empty streams, reflections fade,
In wood and rock and sky and leaves;
In dirt there’s nothing crying, “me,”
As in love.
Stop! Look, look! Listen!
From conifers, a deer’s appeared,
A jumble of meat with twitching ears.
Unburdened by her frozen guests,
She sips familiar waters here.
And suddenly, I feel my weight,
My footprints clear, my presence strange,
No common ground but where I stand
To hint at how we might relate.
Another thing, an “other” thing,
Whose life concerns me not at all,
Whose space I share and watch in awe,
Another thing, an “other” thing.