deepundergroundpoetry.com
Days Without Rain
In the days without rain
the pond is down.
The few trees that grow in it
bear witness to what the waterline
used to be.
Dragonflies while the day away
pretending to be acrobats
performing aerial feats for each other.
An occasional breeze sways the small stand
of cattails that grow near the edge.
Their mint-green leaves, long knives,
firm as canvas sails full of wind
on yacht race day.
A young frog sits in the shallows,
three-quarters submerged,
a meniscus outlines his exposed body.
He is still as stone, rarely even blinking,
patiently waiting for a meal.
Bluegill sunfish suspended
in knee-deep water hoping
the minnows stop paying attention.
Summer sun casting tree-shaped
shadows on the surface of the pond,
a meager fleet of the first-fallen
sweetgum leaves set sail,
showing their new-found colors
like the painter's pallet;
cadmium yellow mixing
with brown umber,
ruby red bleeding to sunset orange,
and ochre fading to burnt sienna.
By ten o'clock the sun
is showing its strength.
The dragonflies
are not discomforted
and continue in superfluity
of flight undaunted.
Though, most other creatures
move toward the coolness
of shade to rest and drift in thought,
to dream of long spring showers,
of gentle thunder and heat-lightning
confined to the clouds,
and the way one season
slowly turns into another.
the pond is down.
The few trees that grow in it
bear witness to what the waterline
used to be.
Dragonflies while the day away
pretending to be acrobats
performing aerial feats for each other.
An occasional breeze sways the small stand
of cattails that grow near the edge.
Their mint-green leaves, long knives,
firm as canvas sails full of wind
on yacht race day.
A young frog sits in the shallows,
three-quarters submerged,
a meniscus outlines his exposed body.
He is still as stone, rarely even blinking,
patiently waiting for a meal.
Bluegill sunfish suspended
in knee-deep water hoping
the minnows stop paying attention.
Summer sun casting tree-shaped
shadows on the surface of the pond,
a meager fleet of the first-fallen
sweetgum leaves set sail,
showing their new-found colors
like the painter's pallet;
cadmium yellow mixing
with brown umber,
ruby red bleeding to sunset orange,
and ochre fading to burnt sienna.
By ten o'clock the sun
is showing its strength.
The dragonflies
are not discomforted
and continue in superfluity
of flight undaunted.
Though, most other creatures
move toward the coolness
of shade to rest and drift in thought,
to dream of long spring showers,
of gentle thunder and heat-lightning
confined to the clouds,
and the way one season
slowly turns into another.
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