A wingtip kisses the surface
Sending ripples outward to
Jar a drifting leaf.
Upward he glides
Only to turn and swoop pondward again.
I am as changeable as he–
With less grace–
Plunging below, losing hope of resurfacing
Only to bob up thrashing,
Sending out waves of fear and confusion
That abruptly disappear with the dissipating rings
When I am suddenly washed over with calm.
My spirits rise and I soar with elation…
Although I shall play Icarus in the end.