The Full Moment

And none of this hits
the mark - I aim
and fire and the
shot goes wide.

I want to say
conglomeration and
the replete.  I want to say

and not quit.  I want
to speak of less and
grit, of fear at the
heart, of lack and

the full moment - but
it is so hard to
gather all of that
and make it make

sense.  My brimmingness,
my peace surplus
does not hold words
well - it is a

purity that defies
expression, a glancing
light of charged
water divested of

impurities, filtered and
filtered of its contents
until it clarifies, is
in its light, its
eye of pearl.  I am well
but I was ill.  I am
strong but I was

withering.  I have grown
from weakness
to be cleansed of my
distress.  This is

a vast clear pool of
silent water shining
smooth and wide
and at its quiet heart sits a

cluster of buds pink
and tight, holding-in their
secrets until the
right flowering time

arrives.  I am water and
all eyes -  the potential
for lilies - for shiny green leaves
like plates and soft white

petals unfurling like cupped hands
on the water, at whose hearts
a host of goldeneye wait
to stand and sing 

their transfiguring.
A Glass of Pure Water
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