This morning grey,

A dimensionless sky

Lurks along the river's surface. . .

Its image shattered

On turbulent waves

The way light

Fragments through a prism.

Each wave,

Each pocket of water,

Reflects its own distortion

Of the sky , , ,

(The finite attempting

To emulate the infinite)

We, ourselves, seldom comprehend

Distortion, like a pane of warped glass

Wedged between us and reality.