Kumo

We were skipping
stones across a gilded lake -

flat rocks sink
after four hops along
the surface,

mosquitoes tip toe;
reeds rustle;
crickets chirrup -

my heart is in my mouth,
and my head is in the clouds;

I take two steps back,
and imagine my body breaking
the still reflection
of the temple,

a rock will suffice,

1,
2,
3,

the sunlight stings
my eyes.