CONTENTS      THE OLD POND     QUIETUS EST     THE LAST POND     A PROPER CIVILIZATION     PREPARATION     HANSEL AND GRETEL: A DOCUMENTARY OF THEIR LIVES      AUTHORS

The pond beckons, cold, silent,
awaiting my arrival, white frost lining
the path as for a bride stopped midway.

Not a bad time to die. Wet clouds still twined
among the treetops, branches black, stiff and brittle.
No sign of sap yet — who would want to die in spring?

The drifting, dumb fog that hovered
along the edges, gone. Shifting silver
hoarfrost, still ice ridges, the water's surface
invisible, turned away from the sky.

Do not wait anymore, he is gone this time.
The pier tilts steeply into iced grasses, I lie
against cold worn planks. The pond speaks
peace, rest. The air is gray, sucks

my breath from my chest, moving me
into yearning come back, my love,
do not break your step, enter
my mystery every time, take my name
as yours, it is for you as it has always been.

Copyright 2006 by Becky Dennison Sakellariou