THE LANGUAGE OF WATER
You wait by the lake
alone
except for your self
&
your reflected self
as if the landscape
dreamt you up.
Your thoughts a flock of birds
scattered across the failing light.
Clouds laugh
run along the ground
on tiny unseen feet.
Trees stand on their heads
wriggling their toes in the air
& you
become as two
both real & unreal
as if a living
dream.
You hum
Pachabel's Canon
as sun & horizon
listen.
Not bad for a human
they both agree.
It's as if
I need a key
to enter this magical
dimension
as if I have to
invent one
...a magical one.
I take a little stone
whisper to it the secrets
of flight
and teach it how to say: "Splash! "
in the language of water.
The little stone
transformed  with its new knowledge
does as it is told
shatters
this mirror world
opens
the dream
and I enter
bewitched
as any fairytale
Prince
my voice
calling your sweet name
with longing
you turn
& we embrace
kiss
& look upon ourselves
as the dream
remakes itself
stitching itself
together with silence.
An old artist
(unknown to us then)
places us
the lovers
at the center
of his composition
adds this
final brushstroke
and pleased
with his efforts
folds up
his chair
packs up
his paints & easel
smiles at our
kisses
wishes
us a goodnight
and is gone
eaten by the twilight.
Our laughter
frail & fragile
lingering on the night air
playing peek-a-boo
with the moonlight.