The boy knows regret that moment
it leaves the curl of his index
flung smooth and ovalesque
between air and want of gravity
to skim a glassy portrait of the sky
and meet an end in its middle.
(one)
Ripples mark its path and promise
to return after its longest jump yet
(this parabolic feat)
kissing with disdain
its own reflection before
((two))
leaping once more to sour the air
with threats to take flight or bend
laws of motion thought unfair
(though immutable in retrospect)
then dipping again as if
(((three)))
whetting its porous skin turning
grey a darker shade of bruise
(a hint of volcanic pedigree)
erupting afresh in an intrepid arc
that descends with Galilaen certainty
((((four))))
to walk the water’s surface
on course to conversion
(might it have skipped further?)
its certainty is challenged – halted
by a lake-swimmer’s temple.
About the Author and Poem
Nikolai Lysewycz is a writer, teacher, and musician based in Germany. Originally from Australia, he teaches English and Music at a state grammar school (Gymnasium) and plays viola with the Neuss City Sinfonia.
This poem grew from a personal observation — an unsupervised child skipping stones across a lake while others swam nearby. No parent intervened. He could only wonder what would happen if a stone met its mark.
Disclaimer: No part of this poem’s construction, planning, writing, or editing was conducted with AI. The work has been edited and proofed with the generous help of readers and editors from around the world. The header image is, however, AI-generated — not for lack of ability, but for lack of time.
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