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