Below the spoken world,
In scales and brilliance
The blade-like fish
In the water’s sky.

I look down
At the relaxed voice
Of the lake
Holding morning’s light
Then again holding change.

The sunrise as lamp
And shadows from birds
Damp in the ripples
Damp in the mud
Touching seedlings
As fragile as finger bones.

Speaking in a whisper
Beneath the leaves
There is compassion
For the floating insects
In how their dead faces
Arrive as reflections.