the sun becomes an incandescent sword, <br />a shimmering arc, <br />drawn across the rivers surface, as <br />laughter rings out - scaring into flight, <br />a nearby flock of birds. <br />we play within the frigid water, <br />trousers rolled to knee, <br />goose-pimpled legs kick plumes of water, <br />aimed at the other, splashing, <br />laughing, lost <br />to this freezing moment. <br />unknown to us, <br />the rippled surface records our play, <br />each step and kick resounds across it’s face <br />- mixing with the ambient waves - <br />a seemingly incoherent <br />interplay of fragmented patterns <br />riding bow and trough, living longer <br />than we could ever fathom. so that, <br />if a passenger along this route <br />ever found such an eye <br />as to playback those ripples, <br />they would eventually find <br />our warm legs, and laughs and life, <br />occupying a minute faced of time, <br />occupying that cold, deserted place, <br />for a while at least.<br /><br />Christopher Withers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-shimmering-sun-s-eternal-wake/
