The pond on one side, the falls on the other,
we straddle the bench and are connected.
The pond, for all its peace, contains another
sky, where hemlocks rise, perfectly reflected.
And beneath, a tadpole heaven is teeming with life.
The falls, opposite, dazzles with its streamings
And takes us below where the runnings writhe,
making frothy rapids of all our meanings.
Our eyes dart between this world and that
to find an oracle, to welcome or refuse,
seeking in this earnest speech the caveat
that blots a future or sanctions what we choose.
The water is moving, but we move too,
and change with our intentions what we do.