Driving home from Dom’s

The river has the moon on it

choppy little arcs of light

linking into a scaled skin

across the surface

strong enough that you could walk out on it

if the faith was upon you

Strong enough to hold below

all the tangled weedy dark

so fishermen must find dark holes of shadow

at the river bank

through which to draw their catch

And all the air above is lit twice

once from the top and once from under

until it is itself a solid thing

of motes and amber caught insects

Oarsmen dip and dip

and then are still

while we fly past

blurring like a comet on the bridge

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About Mikaela

I am an artist and writer living in the Perth Hills
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