Poem: Sounding

why do I write these
ego or spite
a moment
or a motive

tissue thin
tossed around by the wind
as deep as our love?
or as shallow as our work?

but pools deceive

rock spires break the surface
distracting from azure depths
shafts straight to magma
boiling water into stream
rising to cool and calm
before the level of vision

allowing us to float
in peace