Perspicuity Offline119 • Male •
Perspicuity: Watching from the bank
The boat leaves traces as it slips down toward the bleary sun.
Blistered paint, rough oarlock, chipped keel,
All sink into haze, like the small bubbles
Frothing unseen in the water smoothed by distance,
drowned as if in Schrodinger foam.
The world unmakes itself
As it glides away, uncaring, down the waters.
The rowers fade into dust, their laughter
Or shouts, I don’t know which,
Indistinguishable from the wingbeat of flies.
And yet, when the boat slides past the bend
Or, I cannot tell, melts into the far glimmer of distant sky,
The water, on the tongue of memory,
tastes different for its passing,
and that faint scent of wood clinging to the smell of leaves,
the tang of moss, the fragrance of still water,
that is all there is of immortality.