In the still pond
two koi turn in a slow circle,
silver brushing gold,
gold yielding to silver.
One curves inward,
one arcs away—
yet neither leaves the water
that holds them both.
We call one birth,
the bright flash near the surface.
We call one death,
the soft descent into shadow.
But the pond does not divide them.
It only mirrors the turning.
Round and round they move,
mouth to tail,
beginning touching ending
without seam.
Ripples widen,
then disappear—
the circle continues
without announcement.
In this quiet motion
there is no arrival,
no departure—
only the gentle swimming
of what has always been
becoming what it already is.
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