They didn’t fill the pond this year
when summer came upon the little park,
and look what happened: no ducks came
to preen and dip their bills in the water,
and no public congregated to watch.
Instead, tall grass grew in the dry bed
as waiting rushes for what it wants,
and indeed the grass you could say
had a rippling quality like water,
and didn’t wait to fill the pond.
And then they filled the pond.
The ducks come now with oar-wings
like boatmen parting the grass,
and the public congregates again,
mostly sharing in the offense of
how long it took to fill the pond this year.
But how fortunate we are to have waited,
for we had the pond filled twice.