Vernal pool

Here nothing moves, the water
waiting, still as glass, amid
the cattails’ silent stalks while
over there across the sea,
fire shreds the sky, exploding as
buildings crumble, mired in
blood.

So how to hold the all of it,
the killing field and this spring
pool where water shivers once
and wakes to wood frogs’ rising
croaking chorus that, startled
by my presence, stops—only
to begin again.