Wednesday, August 17, 2022

The Swallowed Pond

Imagine that no one’s here—
Imagine not even you,
You transparent eyeball, you.

It’s a scene missing its names,
People, characters, humans,
Or it will be, once you’re done.

Somehow, it comes down to dawn,
This frozen dawn, the random
Number generator’s choice.

Not at this moment, of course.
At this moment, it’s the next
Step barefoot into the pond,

And humanity would say
This choice, selfish choice, is all
Your own. Fair enough. Your own

Sense is that you are compelled
By the numbers to this ice,
But you know that’s your excuse.

You want to go, but you don’t.
It’s later it feels like fate,
Years of survival later,

When, far from here, that random
Number generator picks
This date for you to reflect

On, on the ice one more time.
The pond’s mirror never gets
Any clearer, which makes it

Easier to imagine
There’s no one left to reflect.
Just some scruffy, broken ice.

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