The water holds its silence close,
Its umber mirrors otherworlds.
The slightest tremble flows and flits
Across refracted depths of sky.
Beneath the cold and airless sky,
Where time has lost its tick and grip,
Instead is wrapped on water’s breath,
A melancholy wreath of death.
And then the flash of silver hope,
The broken skin, internal light,
A contact made, an instant forged,
A flickered possibility,
Through boundaries shattered by the breach
Of rippled air and earth and fish.