Light Smith

By the pond, near a line of poplar trees
Is an old man whose brush stroke stills
A shifting sky: pondskaters skim each
Ripple’s wind raised spine: their movements
Mirror his line, his colour as he seeks a wash
Of birdsong, blocked in sunlight,
The silence that precedes

Sudden leaping trout.






Kevin Patrick McCann
William Joseph Schaldach


From Still Pondering


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