Teal Pond -- North Border
by Ron Smith - 12/01
They arrive in the little cove.
Blues and Greens.
Along an icy rim like milky glass.
A-tilt they drop, spilling air that buoyed their wings.
They are warmer waterbound than the Watcher
Who stands in the freezing day beholding gems.
A line of larger, darker forms above;
This world of teal is too small for them.
They call their way to roomier bays.
Here, it is a sparkling glassblower's world -
After the work has cooled.
A slant of sun gilds and silvers the banks,
Yet the watcher is not warmed in his element
As the teal are warmed in theirs.
Sudden wind cracks the coated reeds.
At this the Watcher starts.
The teal lift away with wakes of water drops.
Prisms in winter light -
Refractions once - then lost.
But not to memory.