I skimmed the pond scum with a spoon like broth in a soup bowl. Why does everything have to remind me of her?

Instead,she’s as stillas a leaf-littered pond,dark water evaporating,waiting desperately for rain.

My pond life with hydra is over; now I’m into the ocean world of poetry to dive deeper..

I dream that one day I would be a published writer and people would read my books – if not, I would be living in the mountains in a small hut, near a pond where...