The Pool
Poems by John Pilkey
Solar
The White Company
Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema. Expectations (1885)



                              I have forsaken all but remember a pool,
                              ornamented with marble, under yellow lights,
                              round, swimming engagement pool,
                              kept under diamond lights for those who waited.

                              Someone waited,
                              someone else waited, I also waited,
                              watching for the shadow of a sacred swan,
                              the shadow of rescue.

                              The sound of round feet was nought
                              against velvet marble,
                              against sleeping grass and indoor carpet,
                              harmless, dampened, heel-circled
                              on a simmering evening.

                              But still the yellow lights
                              and still the face of the round
                              pool stirring and glistening
                              and waiting while I waited.
                              Someone waited, I also waited,
                              someone else waited as I waited.

                              Then water was in the sole
                              of the one who waited.
                              Glass upon glass; marble upon marble.
                              The round pool was in the eye
                              and was the eye of us whose heel was glass and water.

                              The aqueous humor of watching
                              became the water of walking;
                              and feet of those who watched
                              became wings of the sacred swan.

                              Elsa and I were the same.
                              Our feet were the same,
                              our wings were the same,
                              and our eyes were the same
                              as the pool under the yellow lights,
                              which were the yellow eyes of the sacred swan.
                              Our hair was in the pool
                              and was the memory of the pool
                              and was the stirring and glistening of the pool.
                              Having forsaken all, we were the pool,
                              walking upright through the shafts of the diamond lights.



John Davis Pilkey