Motion of Mt. Fuji

White sky, sun
I cannot trace its shape
with my forefinger
its heat flattening.

The canoe rocks
still water. I lean
back and throw the
net overboard, balancing
my weak knees against
the fractured edge.

My back and neck taste
water and tips of grass
graze me as the boat tips.

I am the disruptor, slicing
a line between the sky
and air, ripping the scar of
imaginary seams.

A view of Mt. Fuji:
the sky like water,
unmoved, ensnared, repels
against the buoy of the boat.

I pull the net, empty
emptiness into a tub
beside my bones, catching
rising grass - some violet
lilies in violent bloom.

I throw the net back again, and in
that motion of arching backward
then forward, of seizure and
release, a swallow flies
escapes, its vibrations grazing the net.

And I think: how I long to be those wings.

Labels: Poetry, Writing Prompts