Riding the Ripples

Riding the ripples

on a float

in my backyard pool,

chin up

toward the sun,

eyes closed,




the world falling suit

in silence,

save for the birds

and planes,

both of which

whisk me away


into my deep


not sinking

but inspiration-filled,

like the bird’s trill,


like my body weightless,

mental chaos



the good

drawn out,

the murky


all that remains

is the rest

of my forever

with the clarity

of a clear spring

in summer.


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