Estuary
fisherman and what’s left of going to sea
A sage at the
edge of the day
Short houses
and large laughing as feet pound into stillness
Deciding upon
a sweeter solace something smoother, completed with the brine of olives.
Cockles and soft prawns defeating the distance of larger moments of precarity
Storming
through with hail the size of tiny eggs
Ice
nightingales turning their gaze to take along the horizon for an exchange of
the spirit,
Melting
through exercises in memory to find images quite different than what we first
encountered.
Coleridge’s
elderfish have shrunken to tiny worms leaving trails of their daily journeys
farther towards the center channel of the Thames.
Bristling with
the joy of a day unfolding into a grey that allows for small feet to shake the
foundations of a daily routine
Mourning doves
calling to tales that send us in directions we couldn’t have arrived at on our
own.
The promise of
a train ride along the edges of balance where history slips past
An unrelenting
image of body becoming jar
Less wonderful
than figs and more feathered than a summer snow.
The floor of
the wood flooded with the seed of dandelion shocked of its color and petal
state into wisps of some other matter
Turning
possibilities that we have yet to fully embody in our understanding of
ourselves and the world that surrounds us.
