Barometric Duration

Days end, All that could happen

Did.

That said,

It all comes back to you.

Last chance to change

your mind

in my direction.

One point aimed

at your heart, a foci.

Mist. Barometric pressure.

The duck glides atop

rolling water. Surface levels

Stones skip

Hurried to land.

All was settled

where places were

Set. 



Painting by Robert Vonnoh [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

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.