drop little rocks

wind pushes the shore
on painted water, comes to life
some sitting watching
a deep breath then dive.

swirling beautiful she is
insouciant airs goes walking
a penny for such wishing wells
let fall the going out
coming in, perfect.

gales through pine needles
breathe deep the real
this gallant ripple come
laps upon a turbid memory
we once touched.

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~ by thomas conant on May 23, 2011.

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