Meditation at the Crowded Pond

The koi move like slow thoughts

beneath the choked surface,

flashes of gold and white

through the gaps between green.

This is how desire works:

too many lives in too small a space,

each seeking its own path

through the tangle of what's possible.

The lilypads multiply

with mindless determination,

until walking on water

seems less miracle than certainty.

Somewhere beneath this riot

of leaves and stems,

fish continue their ancient circles,

believing in depth.

I watch a single pad

lift at its edge—

brief glimpse of scales,

then nothing.

This too is a kind of truth:

how beauty can survive

being hidden,

how abundance can become burden.

The pond's surface holds

everything but light.

Even the sky, reflected,

must find its way between leaves.

Some mornings I understand

this crowded silence,

how it feels to move

through too much life.

The fish know what I forget:

that under every green darkness

water remains water,

vast in its simple faith.