graphics by Fred Caruso

poetry by Burt Kimmelman

 

Morning at the Pond

 

 

At the edge they poke

their beaks down

to pond bottom, its

muddy cache of tendrils and worms,

then raise up

their heads to eat, look

around - drops

of water falling

back to the sun’s bright surfaces.

 

 

 

The Swan Looks Backward

 

 

The swan looks backward when

it rests, head half tucked

under wing, then unwinds

its long neck into

its strange, precarious

arc, and on thin legs

ambles unsteadily,

lifting its skirt of

whiteness to the pond's edge,

and there among the

floating algae is still.