Water's Edge

The edge of this nearby pond looks almost afire(ok, I think I posted the wrong shot, because the shoreline was almost orange!... sorry bout that) this morning as some sunlight tips the edges.. That seems a bit ironic to me, because each morning I drive by it these days, it has a glass-like thin layer of ice. I found this poem the other day. I like it; it reminds me of ponds I've known, fallen in and skated upon. Enjoy!
The Pond
On the back way
there are planks laid
across the swampy places,
jet black loam where water
pools in the dents,

a place on the path
I double back to
and catch myself returning
mirrored in a sheet
of water, the world

doubled back
in the glassy pool:
wind animates the leaves
and the glint shaken from them
winks flickering

in the pond dreaming
at the secret center
past the last screen
of ferns and creepers, bramble
entanglements

and periphrastic
evasions this place
a steady witness for
the rehearsal of a ghostly
life in signs

and tokens, clairvoyant
the way dreams
betray us to ourselves
in a changeling masquerade
uncovering

another nature
another self
to read in the face there
in the water till reflection
troubles the mirror.

By Jim Powell