“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Skipping on the Surface
It is obvious where matter changes
its collective being lies
somewhere on top, outside of itself
so we can see it, making it matter
At face level, on even ground
I brace my stance at the waters edge
smooth wafer stone in flesh palm
before hurling it-out there
I pause to picture its path, knowing
the ripples go nowhere but below
I can see closely the other shore
this is how I touch it from here
Someone else is always over there
and they say the same thing, mirroring my
in between, where the details gurgle
over boulders blocking fish roads
Some words don't sink
linger at their own reflection
and babble along, afloat
without direction or depth
The stone wrapped in hand
remembers its destiny, making
3 giant leaps before being cast
to the Other side
visibly mattering
just beneath the surface
smoothly skipping over
in stoic silence.
Image By SAMIN (Own work) [Public domain] of Armand River, via Wikimedia Commons.
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