image from wallpapercave.com
this poem was originally published in Writer Monk, A Literary Magazine, December 21, 2025, p. 14. This is my original poem. It can be found at (09cba8e99dc56774115d78ebd803f4ae817927dc.pdf
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ the tap releases its thin silver ribbon into the waiting basin. No ceremony, only the patient gathering in curved porcelain. Rain arrives differently~ a thousand small surrenders against the thirsty earth. It darkens stone, plumps the soil, disappears without demanding notice. Then there is the river’s deeper song, carrying forgotten leaves and the sky’s reflection as it moves toward some unseen horizon, never pausing, never rushing. The lake holds stillness best of all— a polished mirror where clouds drift like thoughts and dragonflies trace the surface without breaking its quiet skin. Even in tumult, water finds its level; it is calm. it asks nothing but to flow, to fall, to hold. to be.
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