From A Rippled Plank Of Wood

I

!      !       !    ?!
[                          ]
!               …

II

Spell the warmth of the glaring
sun ‘n the softness of the
wintrous, wisping wind.

III

…                          ,
…
.

IV

V

Softglaring
wintrous, sunwisp
wind…

VI

[.enD]

Yours,                       Mine,

Postscript
There’s a child (Are you her?),
just across the floating harbour,
waiting on the breeze-swept steps
of the cathedral.

Afterword
How do I write the
quiet of the starlit water?

Image credit – Maxima