skimming rocks

our lives are made of ripples.
someone drops a stone.
we watch the lines expand,
grow,
burn and flow,
until the edges
meet the shore
and back it goes
once more.

our lives are made of ripples.
the stories become longer
the details smear and smudge
but the feeling
[the effect]
stains the very edges
of the hearts
we try our
hardest
to protect.

our lives are made of ripples.
they move as far as the lake of our love allows
they change
when they ebb
against logs
and rocks
and lily pads
or when ducks go paddling by
or when dark clouds drop raindrops from this great humungous sky
and there reflected in us,
[the thing we never see]
we miss it, we wish.
and i wonder
maybe if i was in the sky
and instead the lake was looking
at me.

you remember it, that day
and those ripples that you made?
as the moon rose
and looked so long,
stretched, then not
and bobbing upon a mercury lagoon.
it was all so full of you
your wish to see it there
upon the glassy, rippling water
your wish to feel it there
and share
your very favourite thing
with me.

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