Body of Water

I saw the glare of the sun in a body of water.

It was the evening color of forest smoke in September.

It was the sheen of dusty soil on debarked sticks.

Holding my hands over a passing reflection, all I could see

were potholes, ruts, and hollow roots cut and scratched

where once only yellow and purple iris memories were stored.

Shaded, burnt trees and gray grass marked off black

buzzards of different sizes. I turned my back

in disgust and dragged myself out of the dark

well of my discontent. Then, I slid back in—

through the silver foliage of fate—still old,

yet steady. I let my fear pour out. I was ready.