Sarah Ramsey
With stillness,
I couldn’t tell the water from the sky,
The frogs are jumping from the lily pads,
purling the illusion onto the shore.
My feet are bare on the mud,
the illusion crashing into me.
But I can see it now:
The sky isn’t falling.
Clouds tower overhead and will not purl,
if I look above the horizon,
I will see truth standing clear as day.
Illusion shows me my reflection—and yours, together.
Damn frogs.
But in the sky, in truth, all I see is you.
My name is not Ophelia,
so, I will stay on shore.