confusion always comes
without inner sanctum
with rapids within
you will only see
fleeting glimmers of
hope
without, however,
the rocky bottom,
and the meanders
will appear.
Each brush stroke
of the water's dance
will reveal itself;
each bubble popping,
each freckel made
by the floating foileage
her eyes did not confuse:
they painted their own image,
your chaos within
made it hard flowing
and you did not see
the image it made.
nor its beauty,
or its lack.