The air is silent; trees stand
motionless above the facing shore.
Yet their twins that hang below it
are still swaying – ever so gently –
to the quiet singing of the pool.
I throw a stone
and watch it smash those trees
to splinters. Rings of light
flow outwards, annihilating
softly on the shore.
Each ring is fainter;
in time, the patient trees
reconstitute themselves
becoming whole again
but not quite still: those waves,
no longer visible, have been absorbed
into the music of the pool, its memory
of every stone I ever threw.
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