A pond at the edge of the cemetery,

And it’s the drakes who first see her

Familiar approach, their rising calls

Ringing out like the opening ripples

Of their headlong rushing toward her,

All pretense of any circumspection

Left behind in their billowing wake;

The deep shimmering green of heads

And necks glinting on whirling water.

This kingdom is clearly a patriarchy

But she waits, a patient priestess,

For the women and children to arrive

Before she answers their prayers and

Casts her bread upon the hungry water.

She opens her arms and offers her flock

This benediction, this simple sacrament.

They open their wings, bow to receive it;

The sun and clouds a stained-glass window.