The stream through the trees
weaved and pooled about
my boyish reflection: you there,
what shall you become?
A half-lifetime passing
I return to find in place of
arching shade and water's flow
a plant distilling ethanol.
I'm alright with that, I guess.
What are mirrors for, although
once my face in the stream
wore a speckled brown trout.
.
.
.
.
Darrell Petska, Wisconsin, USA
2 comments:
Darrell Petska's poetry has appeared in Scissors and Spackle, Red River Review, San Pedro River Review, Shot Glass Journal, Curio Poetry and elsewhere. He retired recently after many years as a university engineering editor.
Mirrors of the memory...I suppose.
The river flows...and the water change reflection of the present!
Ciao! Jacopo
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