Image by Geoff Edwards
Weir
Sludge water trees linger
linger on the edge of time
far from the here, now bright water
cascades from the weir.
A lone walker ruffles the silence,
carpet of reeds poppy’s storm
a flash of colour, lipstick on the verge
carmine clashing.
Dead weed billows
across the surface, decomposition
smells like sleep, oily edged
creeping green clawed to stick
dis – ease dogs scatter leaving
muddy footprints over twilight
a lonely owl calls.
Victoria Mosley
Posted over on her site Victoria Mosley
No comments:
Post a Comment