Riding the Ripples

Riding the ripples

on a float

in my backyard pool,

chin up

toward the sun,

eyes closed,

uncharacteristically

mute,

 

the world falling suit

in silence,

save for the birds

and planes,

both of which

whisk me away

 

into my deep

thoughts,

not sinking

but inspiration-filled,

like the bird’s trill,

light

like my body weightless,

mental chaos

distilled,

 

the good

drawn out,

the murky

filtered,

all that remains

is the rest

of my forever

with the clarity

of a clear spring

in summer.

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