Black Pond is not as deep
as it is dark, dammed
some century ago
between ledges of granite
and an outcropping
of leaning fir, huckleberry,
and white pine.
For years I have paddled and trolled;
swam, fished, sailed and sometimes
simply tread water
in the night
trying to pierce
a dark, prickled sky.
Why is is that only now
have I made my way
towards the source,
through the tangles
of bulrush, loosestrife
and sawgrass hummocks,
to this place where
I am utterly lost
and happy
to finally be
as far as I can go?
~Windsor, New Hampshire
