Stepping Stones

they cross the garden pond
shaved granites sunk in its bed
their tops filed smooth
flat with the water's sheen

you step from one to the next

along their staggered row
ripples glow the wake of
finned goblins darting
gone formless as they plunge
toward what blossoms
only in the deep

halfway across you're stopped

the sky's riffling mirror
and your eyes lost
glide you backward
to the mossed bank
from which you came


July 13, 2007