doing things with words and pictures
There seems to be some life in that pond, after all. What a poem! I think I can see a mosquito sliding on the surface of that stagnant wrinkle.
I do get how the pond figures for you, Marie. We live in an end terraced; it was the signs of damp just above the roof of the garage that sparked the poem (that's the OUTSIDE WALL if, by some unlikely turn, the Landlord's reading this).