Not the blue water we always talk about – not that water, a different water
Like a mirror
There’s smoke too, or mist maybe
Yeah, I think it’s mist
Or fog or whatever – are they the same thing?
Everything is white or grey not black so much, it’s too bright to be black
Or maybe it is a mirror, and it’s just so smooth that it feels like water
You know I can’t really tell
But it’s reflecting a sky above and that sky is grey
And is that what’s inside of me?
Just grey sky and mist and clear, clear water
The kind of water on a rainy day
Maybe that’s what I am
But that’s not true
Because I guess that mirror sometimes reflects blue and my beloved cumulus clouds
But it seems whenever I take the time to look into that cool, cool mirror I see grey and white and mist and not much else
Who am I?
Who am I, that is empty save a mirror, save a sky, save an ocean?
Though, isn’t that all you really need? There are sonnets in the sky, and arias in the ocean.
Maybe I’m fine with that.
Yes, I am perfectly okay with that.