Two dozen silver heads, one small child,
Make a constellation of the steaming pools.
All afternoon, the sun sews a cloud. A leg,
Prosthetic of course, rests at one end of a pool.
A pair of aluminum crutches have been propped
Up at the other. Come to think of it, all of it,
The carefully maintained pools, hot and hotter,
The changing rooms, snack shop, campground,
Parking lot, road winding up through the mountains,
Knowledge of the spring’s existence, modes
Of transportation and information, rules
For appropriate behavior, eschewing diving,
Even the semicircle of hummingbird feeders,
All prosthetics, props, and supports for what
Amounts to a floating, blurred tranquility.
The spring itself has nothing to do with us.
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