Clear Waters

in a little green rowboat at dawn
the paddles' whirlpools shiver, gasping,
ripples fresh from the bitter above
if the twists and turns twist us down,
down below, at least we know
the clarity of these clear waters

lashes wear wet, frame our
bright eyes when the sun
bathes our skin, rejoicing in the
in-between of joy reborn, a joy anew
in that sliver of a moment, then
humble back into that worn boat,
the whirlpools of these clear waters
clutch the memory, bright eyes
and joy anew.