snapshot: central park lake

    The stillness of a lake at dawn enters you:
    the mist, the unstirred waters, the glide
    of one marsh bird across a mirroring sheen.
    You stand at the edge of the bank, a foot
    about to touch a surface you believe
    will break forever because of what you do.
    You forget how often ripples have awoken,
    will tear and refold time and time again. Nothing
    you do will make the waters ring endlessly
    nor still them forever. Instead, look at yourself,
    it is you who are broken, dirty and need to be wet.

23 January 2003   10:58 hours
everything's relative { } family values