by Johanna Ely

1.

Rippling water

caresses the languid boats

who rock silently

in a narrow green canal.

A slight breeze

momentarily

disturbs the glass surface;

a new season

has settled in.

The cool blue glance of summer

is a memory.

Rippling water

transforms itself

into a hundred

migratory birds.

Graceful, slow moving,

they fly instinctively

towards the horizon,

becoming long strokes

of pearlescent cloud

brushed across

an azure sky.

Rippling water

catches and holds

a burning sun.

My spirit floats

inside it.

I am the perfect coupling

of divine water

and late October light,

vivid, gold, dazzling.

One tiny second

captures all the beauty

I will ever know.

I am blinded by the brilliance

of everything,

the audacity of the present.

2.

The sun moves,

its image narrows;

the rippling wings reappear.

My essence turns into

shrinking

halcyon light,

glimmering

glimmering

gone.