Prelude to an affair
The spots of blood on my path
glisten freshly as wild strawberries
against so much green, decoy lights
blazing down by the river
to the one place where its torrent
is traversable. Any splashes as they fall
are drowned by the rushing behind the trees
which thin now and then
on fishermen sitting backs turned
grey and motionless as rock -
they hear and see nothing, will not say
that the footbridge has been washed away
by storms, that the only way forward
is through the water.
Page(s) 25
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