The Curved Boundary of Water

In the shadow of the glass, where the crystal ends,
and the liquid surrenders to a quiet vertigo,
a tenuous fold curves, a skin that aims
to hold the world in a dancing form.
Not a scream, not a clamor, but a subtle pact
between the high that calls it and the bottom that pulls it,
an invisible edge, a fragile boundary
that the distracted eye never admires.

It is there that water whispers its geometry,
an echo of forces, a bond that will not break,
a tension that conceals the intimate magic
of what is held back, of what has fallen.
A patient arch, mirror of what once was,
before the sip breaks it, before the current yields,
discreet witness to a blue silence,
to a liquid waiting that the air does not steal.