Poem: Ripples

 

Ripples

 

escherian skeletons

rib a lake into canters.

so many creases  

complicate its liquid face.

 

ribs 

crosshatch into tigers,

trellis through pregnant angles,

curve on striped stilts

and manage, somehow, to clash yet glide.

 

curvy green-gold-blues,

songful of sway,

strum my eyes, 

graze my spine, my chest.

legerdemain of a protean harp,

their voices tease my senses:

you, too, they sing, a vivid skeleton.

you, too, spreading footsteps about:

scions of impulse and deed,

ripples on a stage.

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8/27/24 ... 

The sort of thing we ought to think on when we hear "liquidity."