Collingwood reverie
The snow a country here. The busy birds. An earnest hand: surrender. But ask the boys and they’ll say it’s a backside smooth as Sunday morning. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
The snow a country here. The busy birds. An earnest hand: surrender. But ask the boys and they’ll say it’s a backside smooth as Sunday morning. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Go. You. Stop. Go. Brake. Dart. Weave. Are. Bolt. Stop. Now. Some. Merge. Where. Fast. Go. Switch. In. Stomp. And. Stomp. Watch. This. Act. Now. Don’t. Think. Go. Town. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
He dreams of water. The sawing of the bow and her skirts alive, salt on the tongue. CLICK ON THE RECORDING
Fingers on strings pulling the day on and on to the tap-tap of busy shoes. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Your fine bones and the weight of you. The night unending and the swell of this tiny song, humming. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Late, and the babies upstairs sleeping. Quiet but for this watery heart throbbing. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Put your shoulder to the ponderous weight of things behind glass. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
The sunny ripple of bedsheets and small clothes. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
The woods and your red cheeks and the baby tucked, just so. You find the words and sidle up alongside, swelling with rhyme. CLICK ON THE RECORDING
Time stopped and the clear blue sky. We wait for a ship like all the women before us, chilled to the bone by the song of iron. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN