Fall 1984 • Vol. VI No. 4 PoetryOctober 1, 1984 |

The Pool at Sunrise

A short time ago, without warning and unwilled by us, the garden began to waver between green and grey, faster and faster, until — trying to accept what light there was and see by it — we were dazzled by the vigorous thrust and leafing of the sunrise. Now, in the first breeze of the day, the lowest branch of the black willow shivers and brushes the water, and just beneath it a koi rolls, then another, and then a third, red and gold and white, leaps and leaps through the small fog the pool has breathed into the chilly morning — breaks free, rises to shine for an instant like a small, brilliant bird against the green light of the tree.And though it is true that in the night each of us might have seen something of the other's hands, eyes, body, even of the trees distant beyond the hedges, at the moment of sunrise it has become necessary to speak of light in the manner of one who only an instant before could not have imagined its possibility — as we, thou

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