Where I Go

My Walden Pond is not
even a lake or creek
or even a marsh or puddle
made overnight of rain, it doesn’t
have a place in the land
but only in my hands since
it’s sunk in the territory
of a ceramic cup of tea,
this tiny sea I can make
into a tsunami with a too-swift
step, though mostly
it waits for me see
myself all the way
to the bottom.