Darting ducks
in hoods of white
arrive to dive
through
winter’s quiet.
These funny
little tourists
disappear beneath
the surface
of our rain-gauge lake.
Like a wish-blessed coin,
their descent goes
plink,
ripples smoothing out until
a mirror of fog remains,
and we are left wondering
where and when
they’ll reappear
in a leadless
guessing game.
Invariably, they emerge
much further away
than our
terrestrial brains
would ever predict.
These
teleporting
tourists
bemuse,
enchant,
and trick.
pm poetry 