In the meniscus
The whole reflected world.
Even in the shine
Of the pebbles,
Glossed wet,
There are mirrors
Two fold:
In the painted light
And in the seeing.
*
And In the sheen
Of the sea’s damp hold
Stones gleam transformed.
Surfaces everywhere
Like shields,
Like barriers
To hold the selves
Of things,
Make them impervious
And themselves
Entirely.
Stones are whole
Behind their skin,
Behind the thin film
And that,
Reflected on its surface.
And the sea too
Is deep
Below it’s meniscus.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.
distilledvoice 