April Walk Jane Kenyon

Evening came, and work was done.

We went for a walk to see

what winter had exacted

from our swimming place on the pond.

The moss was immoderately green,

and spongy underfoot; stepping on it seemed

a breach of etiquette.

We found our picnic table

sitting squarely in the bog -- only

a minor prank. The slender birches watched us

leaning from the bank.

And where the river launches forth

from the south end of the pond

the water coursed high and clear

under the little bridge.

Huge, suspended in the surge, grand-

father turtle moved sporadically

one flat, prehistoric, clawed arm

at a time, keeping his head downstream.

Years ago he made a vow

not to be agitated by the runnels

of spring, the abundance of light,

warm wind smelling of rain,

or the peepers’ throstling....

We watched till he was out of sight

and seemed illusory, then turned

toward home -- the windows

brazen in the setting sun....

“Collected Poems: Jane Kenyon” (Graywolf Press: 362 pp., $26)