Day 46- 11.1.20
Water can’t lie
It’s scrumptious, isn’t it.
The way the bay bends with the breeze
like an airborne golf ball;
curving and undulating with
the arrogance and je ne sais quoi
of an aloof Parisian.
It’s curious, too, watching the ripples
will themselves forward, extending still
beyond the shore’s sight
to that distant theory: the open sea.
Walking along the bay, I find myself moved
to tears, which isn’t rare these days, and still
these tears are different somehow—
as if the beauty contained in this blue pool
might actually mean something similar to hope
even on a Sunday,
even in times like these.