The Shimmering Sun's Eternal Wake Poem by Christopher Withers

the sun becomes an incandescent sword,
a shimmering arc,
drawn across the rivers surface, as
laughter rings out - scaring into flight,
a nearby flock of birds.
we play within the frigid water,
trousers rolled to knee,
goose-pimpled legs kick plumes of water,
aimed at the other, splashing,
laughing, lost
to this freezing moment.
unknown to us,
the rippled surface records our play,
each step and kick resounds across it’s face
- mixing with the ambient waves -
a seemingly incoherent
interplay of fragmented patterns
riding bow and trough, living longer
than we could ever fathom. so that,
if a passenger along this route
ever found such an eye
as to playback those ripples,
they would eventually find
our warm legs, and laughs and life,
occupying a minute faced of time,
occupying that cold, deserted place,
for a while at least.