This poem is taken from PN Review 65, Volume 15 Number 3, January - February 1989.Two Poems
At the whizz of a door screen
moorhens picking through our garden
make it by a squeak into the dam
and breasting the algal water
resume their gait and pace on
submerged spectral feet, and they nod
like that half-filled Coke bottle
we saw in the infant river
as it came to its affliction
in the skinny rapids. There
it made a host of dinky bows,
jinked, spun and signalled
till it was in the calm again.
Riding wet in a wide reach of glare
it made us think of icebergs
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