published in Sunk Island Review,
Poems by Judi Benson
photographs and not a single word for it.
bird twittering, white geese on a green field.
to capture the blankness of sky, what to do with it.
a single break in the foggy mist.
stride along the path beneath the bower of leaves,
gait smooth as that duck’s glide on the glassy-eyed Nith.
so the green blinds me, refusing to name itself.
Galloway hills roll and roll trying to rise above the mist.
river runs its reflections of spectacular trees,
a tangle of branches with leaves stuck on,
competing to be the brightest ones. Light, air,
of geese struggling towards an alphabet only sky can read.
my eyes are assaulted with all this, and pine too.
what’s it matter without you.
say, Look at the smoky mist.
you’d say, I’m part of that mist now.
p f shop online
"The Way It Is"
in the Wall",
"In the Pockets of Strangers",
"One word sonnets and other words",
and Gallaway Health Board (proceeds to Macmillan Trust)