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Poem
Recovery
  1. David Gilbert
  1. Correspondence to David Gilbert; davidgilbert43{at}yahoo.co.uk

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I couldn't work out what was happening.

I walked to the end of the rickety pier,

drew a bucket of cold water from the lake

and saw things I had not seen the day before

though the weather seemed much the same:

Silvery fish darted under the surface,

water boatmen skedaddled on its skin,

ripples from a long gone motorboat

lapped the large flat stone at the shore's edge

and the brown stems of giant lily pads curved

down into the murk. A cormorant flew

low and fast across the bay's wide mouth

and out of sight, while the deep cells continued

their slow work of invisible rewiring.

View Abstract

Footnotes

  • Competing interests None.

  • Provenance and peer review Not commissioned; internally peer reviewed.

  • Twitter Follow David Gilbert at @DavidGilbert43

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