reflection

no breeze blew upon the prairie
no wind rustled the knee-high grass
as i passed through the field
of cedars toward the pond
which, in such utter calm
lay limpid, looking-glass-like
as if waiting for someone to
stand on the shore and lean over
to catch the cottonwoods’ reflection
reaching down like roots into the water
all the while, up above, their bare arms
stretched a thousand brittle fingers
toward the sky