Projection 3 - Fallen arrows

it’s a mirror of your memory –
all memory is fallen arrows,
like the trees
in showered, stopped arrays,
heads rooted into
the black ground, serried
in the bank, the edge,
with tail feathers, eased to fan
and shifting in the
motion of the opened air,
sighing, hissing

water-mirror, lake-sight,
is reflection of the shafts
dove into the black of sleep -
the fish-tails, the tracery,
swim-seem and ripple-gest
below the seeming flatness,
the succulent waves of the
sky’s reflecting, and
look as if to rise
again, through the
shadow of their own
memory