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

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