Still

The pond is deep with pine trees now

And in the night a film of ice arrived

Around the margins where the evergreen shades

Everything that’s hushed and still

I’m wrapped in wool and standing fixed

Staring at the frail and fractured waters

Thinking of how it heralds and hides what’s

Constant beneath the blur

And on Thanksgiving the gathering noise

All that marching toward the center

All the chaos and the churn

At the edges of our love

Breaks apart the holy veil

That waits for rising sun.