Poised like an underweight boulder flexing
its undeveloped apex at the milk and honey below,
a turtle promises an avalanche, intends
an impending spread of consequences
heavier than a hundred butterflies flapping
their catalysts at the future. His shell is poised
to invest all the slow-motion promise of his start-up
in the dividends of his momentum:
ripples that swear to sever the reflection
from what it reflects and ravage those pebbles
content to populate a pond’s unprotected coastline.
Soon, says this still frame to the next, soonwe will be a picture made of motion.