it is may – maybe, maybe june
cold spring road is quiet
by the pond at the corner
i watch the tall grasses reaching
toward the the first best sunshine
a black and gold sun turtle
rests on the bit rock
part of a poorly constructed raft
thirty feet away on the short
half-submerged, i wonder
if i can make it float
if i can reach the turtle
if i can catch the turtle
if the turtle will wait for me

he hears me on the short and slides into the water
and away.