Lily pads freeze under winter’s touch
Waiting under ice for spring’s promised thaw
Do they know it will come
And leave just as soon?
Do they know the moon’s glow
Is an illusion of the sun?
Do the black-faced squirrel and the white-tailed deer
Ask why the trees in the middle of the pond
Are stripped bare of their bark?
Do the needles ask why they turn brown
And fall from the height of their pines?
Do the mockingbirds wonder why the wind blows cold
Or why the stars appear in the sky?
Do the stars think about how far they are
From each other, from the reaches of their light?
Do the planets grow lonely with each revolution?
Do they long for their orbits to collide?
I stared at the lily pads and saw myself
Frozen beside them in the ice
I felt the wind crawl up my sleeves
I felt my fingers turn white
I watched the pines sway under the yellow moon
I longed for the Earth to show me the sun
The black-faced squirrel and the white-tailed deer
I tread too close, I saw them run
The beavers made use of the stripped-bare trees
They built the dam which created the pond
They made the home of the lily pads
Where I listen to the mockingbirds’ call
To the stars, perhaps, thanking them for the guide
Through night’s flight, for the planets’ orbits
Which do not collide, and when I hear their song
I think of love, I think of how lucky we are.