I am faced with the body of land,
the body of water,
remaining small next to its offsprings.
The breakage of reflected images
into individual streams,
always on the move,
never disturbed.
Touch of waves and everything engaged
in movement,
even these decaying houses under the sun.
The water is transparent yet
it reflects back everything it sees.
I have tried before to impose order in the havoc,
as if there is a need.
First we comb our hair,
then try to comb the grass too.
