I've always tried to find the hidden doors to other worlds, and this poem is a reflection on one of those.
Rabbit Holes
The water’s surface mirrors
the canopy of foliage: mulberries, maples. Water spiders
stride across the sky. And shadows dive
who-can-tell-where when the image forgets
to mask its canvas. Some days
the surface’s image swears the canvas is a trick,
a lie to hide the depths of the mirror. Those whispers
wreathing like daisies around a cherub’s head
entice her naïve hand to slip through to the other side.
The ripples that her hand force change the view.
About the Creator
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