On the train to NYC, 7:30AM
The spring river reflects an early morning sky,
the calm air keeps the mirror clean;
a thin streak of white cloud
floats quietly from shore to shore.
The pale blue background is broken
only by ripples from a duck
painting her way across the wet canvass.
Bare trees create a row of inverted wet brushes
dipping their stiff bristles into the picture,
the roots of unblossomed lilies.
I throw a rock.
3 comments:
Such a beautiful image and then you have to go throw a rock. That't what we're all doing these days.
It seems everyone wants to throw a rock!
I like this poem.
"ripples from a duck painting her way across the wet canvass"
Great visual. Liked the piece.
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