THE POND

They fished the pond
as they had before
From either side.
Both lines breaking the water's
      mirrored surface
and held in patience.
No recognition yielded to the
      rising sun,
or to each other.
A small patch of water, at
      best a pond
separating the two as effectively
      as light within a prism.

They contemplated,
important matters
Creation?
The cricket or the worm?
But certainly not each other.

And as they had not recognized
      the rising sun,
they ignored its descent behind
      the pines,
Only pulling in their lines when
      light barely flickered
Untangled, they turned for home.

© 1995, Jeffrey D. J. Kallenberg

Listen to more poems