Waterville, Maine, near Great Pond

There were woods, there were winters, summers and a girl
lying under the elm.  She was ten, a new watch on her wrist.
This was enough, this was everything.
She lay on peat from fallen leaves, her cushion of ten times ten.

She was lying under the elm, a new watch on her wrist
the scent of resin and damp earth, musk and bark in the air,
her cushion of ten times ten from fallen leaves
thick and brown from years of slow-melting snow.

The scent of resin and damp earth, musk and bark hung in the air.
That day sun licked the elm leaves, licked her eyelids
as she lay on powdered leaves, thick from slow-melting snow.
A gentle wind stirred the air soft over shallows on Great Pond.

That day sun licked the elm leaves, licked her eyelids—
though something she couldn’t reach flickered by.
Wind stirred the air soft over shallows on Great Pond
where she always swam, right over there.

Something she couldn’t reach flickered by
and she thought of the sun pressing early spring to summer,
warming where she swam — right over there
where the lazy traffic of birds, a breeze, shook the elm.

As though the sun is pressing early spring to summer, she thought.
This is enough:  the breeze, the elm, the lazy traffic of birds.
There were woods, there were winters, summers in those days.
She set her new watch to keep that time.  She was ten that day.

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