We have stockpiled umbrellas
and old-fashioned radiators
a heap of mad grins
reminding me of so many school mornings
fog pearling my regulation scarf
as I walked from the station
past grainy ice-sheaths of dead reeds
around the swan’s nest
yearning for a glimpse
of last year’s mystic swan bride.
The wild ballerina. The last chance
haunting the mist.
From Watershed (Hazel Press, 2023)
