future

words written, held
especially in my hands
as more than just the universe
pours forth
without a reservoir of any consistency

but when the sun strikes the water
just right,
enough to melt this cultured ice,
and the shooting stars above
can bring the night reflection
and break this lonely mirror glass--
a shuddering wave,
the turning page,
brings this lifeblood back to my skin
enough to sink, to drown
or simply
dive in.

--
I drew a picture for this one as well. It was a fun concept I'd like to revisit with more skill, if I ever get that skill, since I so rarely practice.