Puddle Paddle Battle

Blue skies below us
as we push off from shore
my memories are of cliff faces
and the idyll calm
of mornings I no longer see

The sort of vaguery
a return trip would lay bare
unassuming beauty
we’re both still weak to
simplicity still sought

A stale aphorism
sticks in my throat
something about the current
that I believed
for a little too long

It’s far away now
that memory clinging
to the water
peeled leisurely by the prow
as we go down stream


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