She bears her eyes into my flaws,
surfacing them in waters flooded with so much else.
It is not for her to identify what must change, for the subject isn’t blind to it,
god, they face the same waters through all of it’s tides;
she was merely passing.
She held her binoculars on a calm day from her speed boat,
she littered the waters,
her boat intervened with the tide,
and the waters sloshed drastically, aimlessly in her presence-
deeming her victorious-
though the tide was not passive in the face of the girl’s presence;
the girl felt the salt in her eye, more than once.
The tide knew she’d pass soon, but the tide knew it would have to maintain some kind of rhythm, some continuity so that the girl would not have lasting effects upon troubled, yet ambitious, waters.
‘What greater victory than change,’ thought she as the girl sailed back to her world where tides swirled in her favour comforted by the thought of creating a homogeneous tide in her neighbouring village.
But I must affirm that tides never relent in pursuing their own patterns, so whilst the girl’s tide serves her soul well to swirl in safe, predictable motions-
the home tide never relents-
the home tide just make magic out of the madness of it all