a drop of water
stares out
from shower wall:
translucent iris
penetrating,
fixed fast on me
while others slip down,
drop their gaze.
say profundity
is a single
droplet, stretched
full to the brim
with light pictures
compressed
and hanging
from the faucet,
ready for release.
say tragedy
is a water balloon
ripe for contact
with skin and sunny
afternoon,
warily kept
from mirth's
twinkling eyes
and spraying laughter.
say the eye
itching to well up,
spill its guts
is the greatest
intensity -
passion's red,
undeclared presence
possible in torrents
still pent up.
then in a fixing stare,
anticipation
has me
wet-eyed, willing,
anchored
to wall or faucet -
water balloon
that never breaks
or flies.
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