The stream is still running free,

It is too soon yet to think of ice.

But now the chill evening air

Seems to weigh on the water

And it moves slower than it did

A few weeks ago.  Even the moon

Light is heavy, darker, sinking

Through the water rather than

Shimmering and skimming on it,

More a cloudy pool than a clarity.

The talus where the bank declines

Only bare mossy rocks now where

The reeds and rushes and leaves

Have gone into the muddy humus

Or were washed away by the water.

I want to think about this place as

Pilgrimage, believe that the dark is

Not the absence but beginning of light.

But I watch the water moving on,

Thoughts staying, sinking like stones.