Water Tells Stories
A singular current carries the sacred, the perilous, and the ancient world's…
Read more →Misty childhood mornings, cold breath, and a haunting, fragile swan's bride reveal deeply preserved memories
You stockpile umbrellas and radiators, a heap of mad grins
reminding you of so many school mornings
with fog pearls, breath pearls, wetting your regulation scarf
as you walk from the station
on small, red bricks, the outside trim
of a pink cement pavement
past ice-sheaths of reeds round a swan’s nest.
And the swan’s bride, a tissue ballerina, haunting the mist.