by Leo Yankevich

Under swooning clouds
you look into the gleam
of a puddle after rain.
And, as if in a dream,
you see yourself reflected
in the wavelets, wind
blowing locks of hair
as you reach down, though pinned
yourself against the bottom,
which is heaven or hell,
depending on your point
of view, or just a well.
Read more formal poetry by Leo Yankevich and others at the New Formalist Press http://newformalistpress.com/