For weeks I had sat by the pool till late
each night, the practice of a poet’s faith
return each day to the source of it all
but nothing moved as darkness fell.

Tonight I watched again as the sun set
behind the trees, and in the shadows’ rise
and light’s slow cease, the dance of hatching flies,
and this clear moment I saw – or sensed

one beautiful idea, sharp from the sea
beyond belief if I’d not seen her leap
sleek from the deep peat pool, silver goddess
and of wise earth’s gifts it’s said, the oldest.

I’d begun to think her gone forever, a story
we had caught and caged, and then ignored
but she was here sign of earth’s resilient life
and grace for the practice of this poet’s faith.