Book of Hours
For an infinite second
there are two of her;
a bathing suited twin
hovers over shifting ripples
like a saucy double exposure.
Bullets of light shoot holes
through skin—piercing her
doppelgänger in lunch hours blaze.
The watery canvas dissolves;
waves distort her gaping
mouth – threaten to devour
my parched eyeballs.
©️Orion Foote, 2023
Visions of Orion Poetry 