
A Blue Print
In the murky depths of dawn,
The river holds a
mirror to the sky
Inscribed upon the sable earth,
with ivory letters
The line of the poem
hums to herself.
From the crucible of the goldsmith
Time and time again,
electrified silver spills
Wherefore and how to conserve
This fluid form?
Upon which vast and boundless sea ought I bestow
This revered silhouette?
I am beholden to Him
who has bestowed me with an ‘eye’ to perceive beauty
Given such a vision to the eye
and to my gaze,
this river!
