Sitting on the dock at evening
fascinated by the clouds in the water,
liquid reflecting it’s gaseous state
Fish snatching food from the air
Disturbing the peaceful surface
Insects nightmare leaping from the deep
So much life, death above below
The water deceptively smooth
but like ancient glass not perfectly so
Slightly distorting the few clouds
into impressions of themselves
Lonely remnants of a far away storm
Fading like the promise of an old man’s skills
Once full of rain and mighty thunder
Now slowly drifting aimlessly
A reminder too soon dissipated in the gathering dusk
But still catching the rays of the setting sun,
a memory of past glory but now too soon gone,
Lessons lost, this too will be you
And then a small fishing boat appears
cutting through the calm, sliding over the water
And while first disturbing I notice
that its silent wake is almost voluptuous
rolling to the shore,
the bow exposing the long curve
of a seductive decolletage
and my annoyance is lost to wonder
And I am reminded that I don’t like templates,
the same solutions to a multitude of differences
but that I do like words and the play they allow
which is why I find myself sitting here,
alone on the dock
in the soft evening light,
contemplating.
Get it?
Prose and cons
Alas, as my mother would say
Best to leave well enough alone