It’s Your Message You Put in That Bottle

Keeping something patterned in view
While altering your perspective,
Feels like it’s telling you something.

The small waves swum at eye level,
Swirling with pollen, sinking green
Into clear lake’s stony darkness,

Viewed from the shore with the mountains
A herd of broad shouldered monsters
Crowding up more green stoniness,

Viewed from the slopes of those mountains,
Peekaboo between wind-tossed pines,
Spruce, larch, and birch, viewed from recall

As a liquid sigil between
The long days of a short summer—
What are these views telling you?

Nothing much about perspective,
Nothing much about what’s patterned,
And something about nothing much.