In silty stillness regal frogs regale
the timeless inhabitants of this pond
with the full throated drones of Tibetan monks,
chants to this pond of sacred insignificance,
where no fugitives have hid in its reeds,
no shamans have knelt in its bog to imbibe
prescient visions from its morning fogs,
this pond whose heron cast long glances
that keep time with eternity, where one comes
to just sit and remember there are only sacred places,
and that tending to one's soul can take a long time,
and sometimes even longer.
