Hooded you smoke down a street in Petersburg
Neva a mirror curving out of sight is
tied in viper ringlets knots of bridges
weightless beneath emigrant, phantom blue
A second Venice third Rome another dimension
of imitation in solitary, Ego
slips on that treacherous double ice-floe
loves you, loves you not, a-knotted suspension...
Ellen, Eleanor, Lenore... the mask
slips too easily down to the tickling scarf
down to the salt-laden local turf
there to garner is the task, gathering in
skycolored photos of a frozen face
Epiphany... or a mournful trace of silver.
Henry Gould | Island Road 3
Contents | Mudlark No. 6