Fast typing - "Look at a River, Elisa"

Look at a painting of sky.

Look a long time and notice one thing.

How someone’s wet eye stares back like a vortex in the stream.

There’s always a point when the day skips, if I remember it at all, so nothing came before the smudge of paint, the false door.

In the novel I’m reading, a cowboy dies, dies, of snakes in a river.

He was really a boy, a child who cried and sang Irish lullabies.

Look at a detail hold on the surface, look until it folds in and under.

We die, we die, not over and over but twice, the infinite we know.