Farm Ponds

The farm pond gurgled
Like a chorus of stomachs
Waiting for dinner.

For three days it rained.
Pond became a fast river,
River, a new pond.

Each pond had a name
Only bullfrogs could pronounce.
They sounded the same.

Standing between ponds
We shook our heads in night’s song
Roaring stereo.

Pond Two rolled on south
Under roads to other fields.
Water flows downhill.

Some water stayed here.
Before red heifers came home,
Pasture drank that pond.

The first pond still shines
Just over the rise with ducks—
The sky’s own mirror.

The second pond roams
Green pasture, eating itself,
Watching me sit still.

2015