I’ve never been one
to line up ducks in a row
and see how the world falls
in a row of ducks,
never been able to watch
as each duck joined
with other ducks
to take flight in an
accomplished life.
My ducks are
creatures of ephemeral
iridescent rubber,
they float on invisible waterways:
one floats south,
one north, one east, one west,
their original ducky meanings
invariably elude me.
Mesmerized, I watch
their luminous colors dance
under a pale yellow sun,
as they drift into a
horizon where sky
and water
merge into one.
I recognize
time’s a tyrant:
a pompous aggrandizer
who makes ducks in a row
and calendars
and clocks seem
obligatory and
inescapable.
In hubris,
I turn away,
forsaking
a reality
that dissolves
into nothingness
with a breath.
I am a creature
beyond time;
I give myself to
the sun,
the moon,
the stars:
I’ve yielded to
iridescent stillness
and the horizon.