When the ice melts, the pond becomes deeper —
The reeds around the rim are soaked and softened and
Something buried in the bank slides into view.
Sink into the drench before the sun shallows and
The clay hardens at your feet —
Stand where the sluice and fathom meet,
Near the darkest, greenest margin of your soul.
Starting Close 
Pamela, this poem moves me — simple but so adept at helping me observe what is all around me in the external world here and liken it to a process that is deeply internal. I particularly applaud your clean bones of lines here…..it takes restraint and clarity to write such a poignant short piece. Thank you, thank you!
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