as the chicks flee, my hands no longer outstretched
to catch them.
As if someone has pulled me by the hair,
I look up at waving clouds and begin to be lowered backwards,
the work of some unseen hand,
and sink sluggishly into the pond.
All of my hair is wet now. Electricity is shooting down my spine.
But--
the water can't reach all of me--
I do not drown.
The mercy of the mother feels for me
and I spy her--the melancholy peahen--atop the fountain
as peace stretches over me before the rest of the water can.
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