At the end of the road, a river;
beyond locked garages, fence posts,
cans in the undergrowth,
I come on sky-shelved water,
scattering sparrows, thrushes,
pebble-eyed blackbirds,
while downstream kingfishers swerve
and flash like two struck matches.

With the carry of lorries
and birds' thistle-edged chatter,
I hover on the border
between two languages
wondering if I can translate
tree-shade into back street,
or honks from these roof-skimming geese
to sirens. A city in spate.

Down Up
Leave The River