What could have been glorious


Flashes of gold on mud brown ripples. Not crimson,

though I wanted that, nor silver, but golden. Not blue


or turquoise, but mud brown ripples that run

from my eyes to the end of the plane


where early morning sand, meets cloudy morning sky.

No, the glimmer did not, could not come to life.


I tried and tried, then harder I tried, but a page

was flipped somewhere. It broke the waves,


then another was flipped, another and the next.

Ripples of anger rushed in with frustration to fill my mind.


Out went what could have been glorious.