i'm a duck

All your peasant attitudes and peasant soups
escalate and heighten my senses,
particularly my scent and smell
and incertitude.

A molecule, a face
a chance you won’t ever see turquoise in water.
Your composite resolution suggests you love what you see in me -
blonde hairs, bitten, swollen lips.
Our contract is based on this, and it’s loose as fog.

I’m a duck floating atop a yellow river
and my webbed and orange feet paddle quiet bubbles
that churn and carbonate what’s flat.

This is all audible, assuming one listens: