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Unfinished cups of ice water
Unfinished cups of ice water
now neutral to the touch
stand at different levels
shoulder to shoulder on the counter.
The water
and the emptiness
and the vessel
are one
just as the negative space in trees
where wind plays
becomes dapples of light
on the pavement.
Shadows falling down
cut sharper than any knife
but land more gently
than any leaf.
Untouched by time where
water cannot flow
looking out and
looking through-
perhaps I prefer
the blackbird whistling.
I have always said
just after.