BY THE WATER'S EDGE

The pond takes the afternoon's calm, its surface
a sheet of glass wrinkled by an occasional breeze.
Hardly a sound except for the yellow leaves
taking leave from a time worn tree.

But unwatched the fishes soundlessly rise,
huge like memories in long afternoons,
breathe in the light and gently glide
back down to their dark depths.

On the water's edge two crabs fiercely mate:
pincers locked, legs intertwined.
Around them a shoal of tadpoles writhe
released in a recent slimy birth.

And unmarked the rat snake winds its way
slyly into the serene waters.
And unseen in the lengthening shadows
the wary angler quietly bides his time.