The Sound Of Your Poetry

i watch the color of your words dripping
on the still pond
i am up on one of the clouds hanging on
a tree without leaves
i see your last syllable falling from your hand
like a silver coin
getting through a layer of the water
where it falls upside down
(you have seen it when we were once
on the boat watching the Samal children
chasing your charity on the sea)
until it is gone
like a fish taking the deeper part
of the ocean floor

then you begin to travel with the last remaining ripple
to nowhere.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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