perspicacious?

surfaces.

“I found a place in a leaning tree
Over the soft water and the sound of secret things
Trembling beneath ribbons of painted pollen
Worlds of emergence and deep, gulping life
Fluttering gills and first flying leaps
Black bodies of tadpoles shuddering from my feet
and all the sideways solidity
of an old leaning tree.
Resentful feathered faces and curious craned necks
shivered across the sun on the water.
I saw you under their wings,
and in the surfaces of all the world in spring.”

It’s a good day for a poem.

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