The water closes over it
And it’s gone
The ripples lap over each other
And disappear
No sign left that anything
Was ever here
Other perturbations take their turn.
The water takes its color from the sky
The sky is deep; within it, many echoes
Across its breadth, a varied palette stretches
The water’s depth may thus stay undefined.
How far, how deep, how slow, how wandering
May be the drop down to the ocean’s floor
The surface stillness leaves a space for pondering
What worlds beneath have slipped away before
And if the momentary ease of foundering
Should be resisted. Help me find the shore.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 8, 2011
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