Monday, January 18, 2016

ponder the lily, how she goes, neither does she gild

lilypads, what do they
touch like, slimy? we like
them speaking about the surfaces,
the sunlike either to build a catch
to see the pond floor past, or
the sun to make a mirror
to see the lily flowers each twice
how we like this nice difference,
switched lilies, the pad wired
subliminally to the pond floor, how
we like to be upstairs from ponds,
looking down like at a lily chandelier
top and to see the fish from here
glitzing like guests like we
are the privileged children to watch
them in their mysterious like lines
which unseen move them along
I'll like to put my foot like lilypad
just on top of the view, wet
but not in, not washed but neat
and rest my lily weight on it
engage the pleasure of not being there
but not being absent either, pond
and my pads and no print and chafes
the glass to repetitive protest yet
then is still yet not without response

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