Monday, April 27, 2009

a wisp of wind down
from the trees
skims cross the
dark unassuming
flat surface of
the water.
picking up speed
what could be
a firefly catches
the current but
at this distance
it looks to be
a tiny ball of light
flittering silently over
the water, it patters
the placid creek
a slight perturbation
of the shape an elevation
for the blind wind
that scans the sheet
searches for meaning
but gleans nothing
yet continues to glide
into the horizon

The old fishermen
only know the big fish
they reel up from below
Rocking calmly on
the surface of the creek

Stranded in their
petrified boats.

And the wind still wisps
across the water

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