ripples

meeting the water

Arthur Spear “Sunrise” c.1921

ripples
across the lake water touching your feet,
meeting fish, kissing their scales.
hope
the sparkling sun on the sea,
in love with each other, meeting again and again.
splash
a pebble thrown, still wearing its sand dress,
colorful, softened at the edges.
calming
it forces the light to fly,
rejoicing in meeting the water again.
forever
the sun setting in my eyes as I tilt my head,
calling you darling, smiling.
falling
orange leaves full of fire,
in love with each other, meeting again.

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Sunlight

measuring distance

sunlight
can reach a depth of around 80 meters in the ocean,
the one of my hometown, not the one of my heart,
near the white church where waves crash maniacally into the rocks.
the one near the basketball court,
the one where you told me I could trust you,
and the one I cried on when you betrayed me.
light
takes 1.255 seconds to go from the earth to the moon—
around the time it took me to drive back home,
turn the light switch on and off again,
sit in the dark,
around the time it took for me to name all the ways you were my best friend.
infrared
wavelengths are too long to be visible to the human eye,
like love, like that feeling of seeing someone for the last time when you don’t even know it,
like the inside jokes of two people who grew up together.
speed
of light in a vacuum is around 300k km per second. light travels very, very fast—
like the way I left and never looked back,
like the way I would forgive you, if you only ever asked.