The people come and the spirits
hide behind leaves
under the mossy banks.
Cool hovers on the aqua water
an inch or two above the surface.
Bend to scoop some wet,
and a sudden frog face splashing--MINE!
One must watch and wait
for the swirl of whirligigs
in the duckweed, the return
of the keepers of blue lobelia
tending their crops.
As the day wears on, the spring
becomes a steely mirror to the sun,
water grown expressive in slant yellow light
blue and green stained glass telling
earth's story. Broken clouds float
before me, feet yearn for the chill kiss
and so, shoes off for an ice caress.
When shaken off, no sign of their
passing in the cave water
webbed toes dancing
in late summer.
The moon mist rises
as watersprites whirl into whiteness.
hides the warm breath of the earth exhaling
blowing vapor storms long before winter.
Sculpin-- like stealth torpedoes-- cruise
beneath obsidian water. Stars shimmer
in the spring turned scrying pool
the vision vanishing, erased by riffles
and clouds scudding above and below.
Copyright 1998 Jo Schaper
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