Hands cupped
into a bowl,
I know,
I know.
Hands cupped,
to try and hold it
all together
…the gone.
This catchment,
this basin,
this ocean,
holds detachment,
displacement – me
alone, as
a reflection
and a refutation
of the real
in the rippling sheen
and its undulating
animation
– eternal motion.
I can see myself
in the water’s glimmer;
I must not forget
the story within,
etched in lines
and wrinkles,
but, I wish to be
done with this.
To wash my hands
I must open them.
Un-cupped, receding,
the water’s waves
soak into the earth,
pleading
for the forgotten
reflections,
this rumination,
that I knew I was
no longer needing.
© CG Tenpenny, 2022.
Image by K. Murphy.
