the direction of water,
the shape of its ripples,
depends on the
shore that they touch
thoughts
words
butterflies
my intentions
ripple beyond
my own shore
soft
smooth
fueled with love
insistently
crossing the ether
to discover your shore
what is the shape
they find there?
how does it
change them?
are there smooth bays
ready to receive
whose gentle curves
lull the ripples to rest?
or scars jutting angrily
towards the world
slicing sharp new angles
swirling chaos from their calm?
I puzzle at
how these strange
deflections
still surprise me
and wonder
where my own sharp edges
rearrange
your beautiful
intentions
Have I touched your shore? Whose shore have you touched? Whose shore has changed you?
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