A spot of warmth, tight twisting, rising air
Atop an ocean, sun-warmed. Rising air

Pulls water, molecule by molecule,
Reforming droplets in the rising air

Until the ocean Fibonacci spirals
Up — reined, it rains down from the rising air.

The gray clouds rope in rapid rounds to reign
Within the walls that wound the rising air.

When air and water merge, new order forms —
I, Troy, saw ocean land from rising air.

Originally published at http://troycamplinpoetry.blogspot.com.



Troy Camplin
Thyme and Time Again

I am the author of “Diaphysics” and the novel “Hear the Screams of the Butterfly.” I am a consultant, poet, playwright, novelist, and interdisciplinary scholar.