The Surface of Things

Sitting in the grass
hair billowing in the breeze
unfurling like a banner.
Sitting in the grass beside the pond
watching in silent thought
as the wind causes ripples
distorting the images
painted on its surface.
Reaching down to let fingertips
glide through the cool water
further distorting the reflections.
Watching as even the loveliest picture
becomes something grotesque
as it mutates from itself
into something new.
Hoping the distorted twisted pieces inside
are not so forever,
wishing they would mend themselves
as easily as the painted pictures
on the water’s surface.
Watching as the pieces fall back into place
as the wind dies down
and all is still again.
And the pieces inside
remain the same
and the world around
is still distorted
and grotesque.