The Coin at the Bottom

The neighbor's pool, drained down,

a blue tile grid, so stark.

No shimmer now, no splash, no sound,

just empty, in the park.

I leaned across the chain-link fence,

to see what lay within.

A pattern stark, no pretense,

where summer used to spin.

And there it was, so deep below,

a coin, a copper gleam.

Dropped by some swimmer long ago,

caught in a faded dream.

It waits there still, ignored, unseen,

a wish, or just a loss.

Beneath the grid, so stark and keen,

bearing its silent cross.