The Bog

By Grace Lawrence

smooth glass surface untouched
black as night
and miles deep

white stars shoot across the top
moving steadily
in all directions
pure unadulterated chaos

i want to dip my hand
feel the thick black ink
from my fingertips
to hold the small stars in my palm
white bright light seeping between my fingers
before returning to the blackness

it sounds dangerous
so instead
i throw the rock

waves ripple across the never ending mass
that once was peaceful and
i am unable to contain my excitement
over the cataclysmic events
that just unfolded before my eyes