Ripple

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
The lure flies through the sky, drops
slowly, barely breaking
the surface,
as the water opens

like a lover's mouth. The circle
closes, creating a small ripple,
a welcomed wrinkle.
The water takes back its tongue.

Behind the trees, the sun strips
below the horizon, leaving
behind her blue background,
for slips of gold and auburn.

Because I have noticed the light, the water,
I have held the mystery of time, and yet
before the light gives way to darkness,
just one more cast.

Previously published in Talking Stick, Volume 28. Editor’s Choice.

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