Saturday, 7 February 2015

Bridge of Sighs

He lies like lagan wrapped in pond fronds,
deep down in the dark
where the naiads keep their treasures.
His buoy a length of woven webbing
for kind, sad men with billhooks
to snag.
And drag him from the lair up to the surface
and the air that he no longer needs.

Rinse the silt from his cold cold sleep.
Wrap him in a warm blue fleece that bears a badge
and take him home.
Hold him close, so close and rock him 
for an hour.
Maybe more.
Hold tight, so tight this time.
Bleed savage salty tears to fall and blend
with strings of pretty candyfloss 
that leave his lungs.

In the woods
beneath the bridge
the naiads wait
singing their watery songs.