Extraordinary things can flourish 
in pondwater, 
                         in my stagnation
where festering scum glows green.

Coursing the perimeter
my feet catch dust
                         half-heartedly getting somewhere
implausible and balled up.
When there’s nowhere else to deflect 
		       the loss of clean water 
                         and no avoiding the neon algae
                         spreading from the shore

then my self-inquiry is self-elision is
the risk of not saying something into a rift
                          moving a body part
to reinvent the difference 
between melting
                          and the changes mirrored in the ice
                          narrowly at rest
                          in the blank territory 
                          of my receding shadows

whose volume of zero times zero
equals the unlimited potential
                         of withdrawal as a strategy
for survival. Anything is possible
at the root of the circle
                         at the temple on the edge of a cliff
                         inside meeting outside 
                         below and above
                         where the faint glow that remains
                         can still flow into a current
and be carried forward.