The Marriage Pool

New dumping stopped, old toxins settling out,
the marriage pool
clears down its watery syncline by degrees,
and though no bottom can be seen
subsurface fogs of old debris are thinning
and the bleached remains
no longer float
up unsuspecting as we kneel
through our reflections to appall,
and though no slick and slender trout survive,
the smaller flora, once thought dead, now thrive
in water where the graygreen mat
of algae bloom once choked all life.
Sunk murky deep, old poisons stratify, worst lowermost,
and animosities too hard to soften or decay
lie thickly covered by the bottom’s muck;
still, if we do not stir
by the intensity of thought or thirst,
the bottom sediments to rise
with their contaminants, we may,
if we drink shallow, still drink sweet.

©WILLIAM JOHN WATKINS