the silver clouded sunlight makes little “x’s”
ripple-wave crests break
and glisten
like the hint of an idea and its execution
yet I sit here planted
it’s not water but a window which I look out of
and it’s the lumen fog between branches
making little “x’s”
it’s this vast view that teases me
peeking whorl of opportunity, you’re steps away
but with each step I take
your reflection remains afar
and from my new stance
I realize I haven’t moved at all
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