Still Surface.

Trickling through my heart,
a stream of desperate thoughts.
I once washed my hands of you,
but I ache here, now to bathe in you.
The cool easiness of a still unwavering surface,
one which can be depended on in comfort and confidence.
A mirror laid in a vast rocky slat, reflecting trees and all of this,
an eternally deep and narrow pond, a personal fjord.
We dipped there once, and forever in our minds.