Bali

The water moves

with the wind.

It bends itself

into undercurrents and froth

repeating over millions of years

on this beach, or one like it,

slowly shaping the land,

which shapes us,

who shape plastic.

I sit, part of this place,

knowing the ground

is in my bones,

that I breath and

am the air.

Mostly water,

like the sea beside me,

I move, shaped and shaper,

imbued with microplastics, neoplastic,

stochastic.

Moirae

In the summer

local ponds fill with algae,

small clumps

group in tapestries of green,

fractured by

spiderweb separations or open spaces

through which dark water shows.

From a plane window

I see tinkered geometries

in lime, moss, and ivy

that form between

cloud shade and hedges.

And through this god’s eye

is laid bare our push to grow

and in unforeseen links,

how we reap what we sow.

____________

Edward Lees is an American who lives in London. During the day he works to help the environment and in the evenings he writes poetry if his daughters permit it. His poems have been accepted for publication in Sparks of Calliope, Moonpark Review, and Amethyst Review.