The glassy surface is wounded by a skipping stone

That a foolish perch mistakes for food,

Fishfully forgetting all those other times

His heart was dashed by unrealized expectation.

Incrementally escaping the distorted sun

The flat stone slips down level by level

Pausing at each only long enough to remember

Its prearranged downward destination.

I welcome the eager stone as it comes to rest

In this ringing silence that I have chosen

As the fish steals one last wide-eyed look

At the two monks who have come here to contemplate.

At the bottom I swear the lake water tastes like her lips

As I inevitably drown in her memory;

O lucky frogs to swim so long in this wet

And yet return for air!

Lying on my back in warm settled mud

My breath has escaped in countless bubbles

That have like refugees carried away

The last remaining syllables of her name.

Back on the forgotten sandy shore,

A leg-strong boy looks for another skipping rock

Wondering idly what it will be like

When he has finally become a man.