Make your own free website on Tripod.com
                        SLOW   SPRINGWATER

by Melissa Dixon
 
 
 


SmallWaterfall ©Roderick Stewart



 
 
 

can I find it again—
that small swamp in the forest
my childhood haven—
is it even wise to search?
old paths are thick with brambles
 
 

I step from dark woods
into the clearing, sunlight
dazzling me—there!
white trees embraced in ivy
still circle the pond
 
 

near water’s edge
an old log long awaits me
cushions of moss
more lush than ever lure me
to settle down in comfort
 
 

stones at ageless rest
their brows worn smooth as silver
slow springwater
rises fresh from depths below—
my hand scoops enough to drink
 
 

haunting the treetops
a hermit thrush, his sweet notes
pierce my solitude
friend, how clearly I recall
hearing your ancestor sing!
 
 

phosphorescent bubbles
pop up to the pond’s surface
a tiny frog
pulses in my palm—does he
feel my heart beat too?
 
 

late-afternoon sun
dropping gold in algae pools
odors old as earth
merge with gathering dusk
mist creeps toward my feet
 
 

thin whine
of a lone mosquito
entering my ear
the hum of  distant traffic—
sounds cloud  over a dream

 

 Back to In The Light: Tanka

 Take me to Main Contents Page