Of My Own Making

A fish
But deflated;
A can
Of Busch Light

And I think,
How foolish of me

Sweet streams of blue
Sweet beauty beneath a placid reflection of my own face

Excitedly at first
I gazed into the muddled gauze
Flowing nearly to a stop

“What wonder,
What monuments what -” I say
“is that?”

No fish
No child of Earth
Yet shining tender in loose sediment
It is there and
There is no heart inside,
No wonderfully constructed calcium skeleton,

There it is
Beneath this reflection
Far more lively
Than my beloved river runners
And vastly more insidious

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Fringe Discovery

Counted blessings as seeing the morning sun
Through ten feet of water contemplated swimming
Without the ability to comprehend stable space
Walked across lily pads tempting each to sink
With the slightest indent,

Muddled visions of low tide bringing forth sea shells
Fish scales washed clean and decomposing
Predicting growth as saturating skin till sediment ladened
Pruning exterior inconsistencies
Without care for environmental impact,
Shed dead cells hoping only underneath
Goodness will remain,
Release the ballast
Relinquish dated forms of weight
Memories muttered still remain
Traveling in modulated echoes
Faintly sometimes
Worn and unidentifiable
The past makes clarity further away
Dredge pocket change from sense thrown wistful
Pond bodies becoming wishing wells
To switch perspectives
Believe in the moment gravity shakes hands with hope
Strobing out then again-
A frog leaps from roots showing
Afraid to see the reflection of the place it lives in