Aaaaaaaaaand–
Ripple.
Light and lost,
as though upon the water's face
A thousand mirrored deeds recall the one
–Plunk! that fell,
Itself the product of a breeze
(Such breezes sometimes ease the leaves
to loose their grip upon the trees–
those leaves then fall to prick the seas
or ponds)
without point or plan.
Silly me.
Afloat, adrift, a washed up drip
Dropping down to stir the pot
–and ignoring the recipe!
Oh, was there ever such a thing?
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