there’s probably an epic battle
for our existence being played
out leagues under the very water
we swim in. i enjoy the bubbles
my hands create as each enters
as they float and descend. then
escape slow
into the hydrogen and oxygen
each disperses: enters another
form of creation. how many
creations surrounded him that
day before the sun set: each glancing
from the shallows of the ocean
coffee cup in hand: how the moon
extended: how high tea was served
it all etches, oxidizes movements
how gray his hair is getting i want to say
how still his eyes are becoming
there's more but my eyes water
escape slowly
The Topography of Tears : Rose Lynn Fisher
