July 17, 2005
I long to know the name of those sweet birds
that skim the waters of the reservoir.
No reason can I see except delight
when so meek a creature interrupts his flight
to test the measure of causation
entailed within a life so slight.
And yet, the glory of the moment
when the ripples set to motion
seems a fair intoxicant for one of his measure.
And I rise to find a smooth, flat stone
to skip across the reservoir;
make some ripples of my own...
A fair intoxicant for one of my measure.