Cropsey, 1859 Hudson River School

Opacity Zero


We are the most transparent we’ll ever be

during the loosely shaped season

when the vibrant colors of yesterday have faded,

leaving us a clean canvas,

anxiously anticipating

what hues the new era might color us with – 

the unexplored tones having yet to saturate.

We can’t help but wonder whether we’ll be dressed

in indigo or ivory tomorrow,

or perhaps a sage.

Though they foster no change,

our jittery guessing games

shield us a bit 

from the exposed, vulnerable feeling

of absolute transparency.




A shift in my conscience

brought by the trade winds you send 

distributes miles and miles of sensation

to this temperamental town.


You mock me,

for I am not the one 


to bathe in your icy depths. 



Cross-legged behind the cattails,

we go unnoticed.

Our bottled up energy

threatens to reveal our presence, 

so we channel it 

into mother nature’s mirror.

Focusing on our swaying reflections,

sending dozens of ripples

toward the midafternoon sun,

distorting our watery appearances.

The pond patterns captivate you

and put you in a trance.

I can tell how much you long

to shatter the delicate silence

with a splash into the glassy pool

of trout, tortoises, tadpoles.

But we both know

that some spectacles are spoiled

after just a brush of human touch.

So there we sat

motionless amongst the tallgrass ;

cross-legged behind the cattails. 


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