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13 Sep23

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Erbacce Press;
 
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Dempsey & Windle
 
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Poetry Salzburg
 

 

 

 

At Once the River

                                           i
When her breath became a sigh      we entered      incandescent
two bodies cut flat      dark water      warm      embracing each pore
deepness      a thrill      loosening our grip      I touched her hand
it stained my own      twilight colours      she said      she spoke in shreds
eternity filled each lisp and slur      I listened      host and guest
till the river became our saviour      and slumber:      my Lord
 
                                           ii
her hand was ancient as water itself      ankles knees belly waist
the river swelled to meet her lips      what shadow is this
that spills me here
      bitterness dripped from the tips of her hair
she smiled once and then forever      as if meeting a forgotten lover
what shadow is this that links me so      a warmth      familiar
as a scent remembered      a breath      fleeting
a river      sliding      the whole of it beyond her reach
as might an echo      in mist
 
                                           iii
how long did she sleep      certainly not an eternity
after all      she’s here      is she not      as miracles go
a river might turn into a sea of milk      this one’s blood
and fire howling      she strips to her feet      follows her steps
to the river’s edge      and leaps      eyes raging
Rosie’s no different from fire or water      this she knows
 
                                           iv
everything      the room      bed      her hands and thoughts
dissolved in sound      a roar      a storm      in a bell jar’s grip
and poof      she’s ankle-deep in tears      the river wails
to no avail      she’s deaf      and only feels a body’s slip
deeper and deeper      the water fills her emptiness
and leaves her tender as a new-born nymph
 
                                           v
dusk or dawn      whichever      sun’s an abstraction
the ferryman too      there is a bank      and on it she kneels
this is no river      her thoughts stir like bubbles rising
the morass is thick of them      each shoulders a murmur
kiss your index      to feel its presence      no finger      no lips
breathless comes the ferryman      breathless she steps in
 

Scott Elder

published in the Aesthetica Creative Writing Anthology, 2022;
first published in Steel Jackdaw, 2021