Kettle Pond

In the shadow of a great owl
lies a mirror the color of pines,
the only ripples from barred waterfowl,
their calls breathe dreams into the world of lines

Carnivorous pitches and the shoes of ladies,
moths from the moon and succulent berries,
surreal sights made lucid

Life teems at every edge, and eagles circle from afar,
but under coarse rock a hidden river sings,
boulders lurk in a pool of stars,
and from a split in monolith stone gurgles foam angel wings