A Galaxy by the Pond

By Constance Clark

So much is invisible, under skin,
under water something in
the anima untouched by reason.

I am fading again, sublimating
at the rim of shadows within them
and the goldleaf matter

at their molecular core—touch
thousands of sycamore balls 
submerged and together, russet

and spikes gone under decay.
Blackened pods stick in the mud bloom
gaseous planets new iteration 

reconstruction in slimy ether.
How can there be more
quickening without air?

A young frog appears
then vanishes to underwater 
safety. I see a red salamander

under my skin twisting up slate steps
a far-off emerald gorge
and polliwogs in a deep pool

twitching back legs, golden shiners
changing direction
in the pebbled shallows.

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Constance Clark is a writer and retired teacher from central NJ. Her poems have appeared in Litbreak Magazine, Heavy Feather Review, Kosmos, anthologies, and elsewhere. She is currently working on a collection of poems focused on the notice of nature and the concept of Japan’s 72 microseasons.