Random Thoughts on Rocks and Algae
Down by the mud banks of Skunk Creek,
checking out the meniscus up the water strider's legs,
waiting for the bullheads to spit stones into a Roman mosaic,
hoping the undulating green algae would flow auburn
like the hair of Venus blown by the wild gawking turkeys
in the tall grass. But that's another museum.
That's a different day in the gallery,
below the bur oak bowers
where the cottonwood seed floats on a breath,
as if examining the probability of falling too soon
upon the water.