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published in Sunk Island Review, May 2007,

  Three Poems by Judi Benson 



Twenty-five photographs and not a single word for it.

Some bird twittering, white geese on a green field.

How to capture the blankness of sky, what to do with it.

Not a single break in the foggy mist.


I stride along the path beneath the bower of leaves,

my gait smooth as that ducks glide on the glassy-eyed Nith.

And so the green blinds me, refusing to name itself.

The Galloway hills roll and roll trying to rise above the mist.


The river runs its reflections of spectacular trees,

each a tangle of branches with leaves stuck on,

all competing to be the brightest ones. Light, air,

flocks of geese struggling towards an alphabet only sky can read.


Yes, my eyes are assaulted with all this, and pine too.

But whats it matter without you.

Id say, Look at the smoky mist.

And youd say, Im part of that mist now.


Judi Benson



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