Ripples
It held a world captive
mirroring the creep
of clouds and soft sway
of trees, unbroken
until brushed by a bird wing
when a world
fractured and sent ripples
scurrying off across
a calm, crashing into
something small,
killing it
and I can't
even give it a name
nor find what it left there
pitted briefly in the glaze
of the morning.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2022
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