Hemlocked Heart

Shallows enough to wade through your ponds.

I dive into inches thinking I'm wrong.



A slope down, a trench line, there must be some more.

But I'm only up to my ankles and miles from shore.



Looking back to the start, when you let me in,

I thought there'd be oceans or rivers to win.



A bog marsh or swamp, a full, complete ecosystem.

Yet, days turn to weeks, months standing in dribbles.



Fervently sprinting through your ponds, sanitized and contained.

In your frivolous heart, I can find no deeper waves.



Perused by my own depth, I'm left with no choice

I must leave these shallows to regain my voice.