A wondrous thing
her puddle was,
wondrous, and terrible as well
for it was not too deep –
(the same might be said of her)
and this may or may not – be true –
(as it may be with anyone)
its condition – dependant
upon many things
outside itself
(as it may be with anyone)

like rain –
Sun, and
and always,
the possibility of boys
seeking new novelties;
in the end, it was this
and had she ever known another –
they’d likely think the same
of her.

likely, but
they’d be mistaken;
for it was more her
situation in life;
in her puddle
(for this is how she came to – think
of it).
that was not so deep
and being all she knew, she
adjusted –
only half breathing –
just a parts of herself –
for each breath;
one eye up, unblinking
one eye in the mud, unseeing
half cool and wet;
and, one half warm,
and usually
(except on rainy days,
oh how she loved those days)
she didn’t like to think
about winter.

and so she lived

once, after praying
for eyelids,
she wondered – if she
had approached,
the Correct gods
in the appropriate order.
(or if gods cared of such things
as eyelids and of order)
or was it
(despite best intentions)
that the Proper prayers,
had not spoken
or had been spoken,
but incorrectly;
(or if gods cared
at all)
in the end,
she thought, it was most likely due to her
apparent “Lack of Depth.”
(this she came up with on her own)

the days without blinking
in Sunshine have made her
blind; and, perhaps that itself
was the answer to the prayers.
(dutifully she noted to be more
precise in future requests)

but blind
can moonlight still bath me
she wondered;
can the dreams of
something called
ocean still touch me?

and so she slept
one eye blind
one eye buried in
the mud.
and dreamt – of rain –
and sun –
and boys –
and of the thing her bones
the thing she called
her ocean.

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