In the pond in the park 

all things are doubled:

Long buildings hang and 

wriggle gently. Chimneys 

are bent legs bouncing 

on clouds below. A flag 

wags like a fishhook 

down there in the sky.



The arched stone bridge 

is an eye, with underlid 

in the water. In its lens 

dip crinkled heads with hats 

that don't fall off. Dogs go by, 

barking on their backs. 

A baby, taken to feed the 

ducks, dangles upside-down, 

a pink balloon for a buoy.



Treetops deploy a haze of 

cherry bloom for roots, 

where birds coast belly-up 

in the glass bowl of a hill; 

from its bottom a bunch 

of peanut-munching children 

is suspended by their 

sneakers, waveringly.



A swan, with twin necks 

forming the figure 3, 

steers between two dimpled 

towers doubled. Fondly 

hissing, she kisses herself, 

and all the scene is troubled:

water-windows splinter, 

tree-limbs tangle, the bridge 

folds like a fan.