Still
Some claim
the water sucks
and gurgles as
it celebrates
its dance around
the rocks –
that liquid has the
agency, while the
stone, inured and
thoughtless, merely
borders life –
observing action,
like a patient on
too many
drugs. But,
slow the tempo, turn the dial
down until you think it points
to zero. The waves vanish,
the tides are a blue-grey blur,
the diorite finds its voice,
articulates depth,
yields to its chosen
shape – determined
by its erstwhile
liquidity.
I still love you.