The slender oar
stroked the blue sparkling water
—a matte rippling
—a gentle wake leaving a trail
     then disappearing.

High above,
beyond site,
a rumble.

Like a chisel striking marble
—an avalanche.

Giant sheets of rock
pounding the terrain
—a matte torn
—hard impressions
     re-creating the mountain’s face.

The oar lifts from the water.
The unseen sculptor
seems to lift the chisel.

There is a quiet
that opens the silence
—an invitation…
     no formal words written.

The oar skims the glass lake
revealing the mountain’s reflection.

From nowhere, a rock
sails as if launched from
a sling.

The waters stirred.

The oar dips
—the matte
     creating itself
—new expressions

A soft still voice
somewhere in the distance.
The echo of the One sending
the invitation…



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