Sippo Lake
June 26, 2008
No larger than a tiddly wink
it would leave only a mist,
land empty in a small cup.
Still, it claims our attention.
One winter a neighbor boy drowned
under the shrunken flat white disk;
often summers when nightfall
renders the sky all colors,
mirrors two worlds from one,
sun running over
I can still hear his mother say
she lives by that light.
by Diane Kendig
Read by Beth Adams — Download the MP3
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Categories: Water
Diane Kendig
qarrtsiluni 
Wow. Terrific poem. I don’t know if I would have dared to write a poem with “tiddly wink” in the first line, knowing how much assurance and power it would take to sweep it into a cup of poetry. But you make it look easy.