my sweet shadow, quiet sister of dusk.

A January snow. What will the New Year bring?
I shiver--     someone walk across my grave--
in cedars     London-bound     the cardinals sing
apocalypso--     Jubilee arrive--

"When Norwich Thames do come to Amersfoort..."
this incarnation of     a devious rose
is watered with my tears--     the bells start
ringing     fair, kind, true     into the night...

That flickering sword     (so calm, so adamant)
would drown the body's spark, the mind's despair;
the ring     enveloped in your palm, my     cormorant
shows finer mettle--     saves the camel     by a hair--

& only a merciful     & midnight sun
from knotted multitudes     will burnish     one.

Henry Gould | Island Road 63
Contents | Mudlark No. 6