The pond is almost hidden
in thick rushes
but I spy the periscope
of an egret head,
hear the rattling cry
of a kingfisher.
There are no secrets
from the eyes and ears.

It’s wider and deeper
than I expected.
Enough to interest
a merganser pair.
Enough amphibian mating calls
to form a belching choir.

Fish, too tiny to name,
slither about the mossy rocks.
Painted turtles bask on logs.
A muskrat, on the opposite bank,
may feign indifference to my presence
but its mudbank hollow
is never far from its scurrying feet.

Every living thing but me
is doing its best to survive.
I am the sole interloper,
the lone woodland philosopher.
Only I live elsewhere,
rejuvenate here.
A crow squawks at the threat I pose.
It has no way of knowing me.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review and Red Weather. Latest books, “Covert” “Memory Outside The Head” and “Guest Of Myself” are available through Amazon. Work is upcoming in Washington Square Review, Rathalla Review and Open Ceilings.