On a pond in the Berkshires
He had a purity
Like a herons wing
Not I
I was rooted
I pushed up from
Black cold muck
Unlike this one
Who fell from the sky
With purpose
But tenderly
Stepping into
The soft fertile
Mud
Peering with one
Jet black eye
Into darkness
Does he see me?
Straining towards
The surface
Almost
Unfolding
One small leaf
And then
Finally
Thick waxy petals
Pink lotus
Opening
All at once it seems
but only for
the courage
to fall again
into the soft darkness
k.d. purscell













