A walk by the river
I can hardly speak but I will try.
It isn't often that my brain falls still, silent;
At night it's usually a ferment - mingling
Tenses, lit up, following many cul de sacs.
Lingering is a moonlight-figure, reflected on the frost,
Gone but never lost.
On the ground, I am suspicious of the silence
Within. Outside all is wild and the colour of blood.
If I do not talk to myself I am usually fast asleep
Maybe drunk. On a barge meandering down the river
With peals of girlish laughter echoing from the banks
Passing under metal bridges carrying ladies
With quivering parasols and men in top hats
Like well-paid actors in a film about rivers.
Men over balancing and falling into the river
One after another as if this was a deliberate
Act of suicide. Bodies splashing into the sweet scent
Of grass newly cut and just, just divine.
Forty-two years old and gloriously confused
She removes her shoes and happily remembers
That wildfires can’t be bought or sold
So, the yearning for the spring, is born again.