The Pond

I try to understand dark fathoms
of your fear, as when a child of yours,
not your only child, slid out of the womb
into unsounded water, failed to emerge into light
when your twins were born. You sang
their birth and wept that loss. Sorrow
deepest as you held and stroked that nameless.
Each pore felt the nothing slip away.

Each pond's green rim holds the solemnity
of unbroken waiting. You distrust mermaids,
the quick-finned, opalescent women who rescue
fabled mariner or baby from a downward spiral.
You understand, above that ancient mouth,
the sun-darkened surface never trembles.