Pond to Sky

no difference between pond and sky-- as they both hold all the magic, do drift into each other before dawn-- how can it be--in the wee hours-- sky and pond appear to be one cohesive interpenetrating force-- as love- making serves to forget self... pond becomes sky, sky becomes pond- as you and I forget self long enough to really hear what the other is trying to say... correct me if I am wrong; I was born between the beats and the gypsies-- carrying the magic in breath of my grandma who knew at an early age I was to be more than smiles for a camera-- more like a poet dancer, sweeping through the back roads of suburbia-- anchored by trusting my ancestors,--reminded in dreams and photographs how little we really choose: as the music of words, and the timbre of music are the only prayers that make any sense to the poet--perched between branch and bird, pond and sky