Persian Floor Tiles Poem by Mark Heathcote

These mallards are intermingled motionless
In symmetrical geometry
on a glass of blue water, mirrored equally still.
They resemble some random Persian floor tiles
waiting for the floor tilers hands
that he might finally arrive and arrange them
in the palace of Jade.

Sure, we all have our place but equally,
at the same time, we remain, a little bit, disjointed?
There are movements beyond our understanding
shifting, forwards, and back.
there are openings …opening and closing.
There are cracks in the ice acting like gin traps.

It is here we can listen and hear
their distressing honks and quacks
and perhaps, it's a time we too relaxed.
Move into appreciation mode and reflect on-
what the entire world has to offer us
is something that is near to perfect ready to fly?