Where three rivers meet we enter the water,
feel the flow pull our limbs.
Still in the trees there is birdsong
the evening light forgives.
I watch your shadow as you sleep,
go out in the intense dawn
that you may know me in the sun
for the time that I am gone.
We come together, gently shudder,
your fingers clutch an ear of wheat.
Thoughts are thorns, their points turned inward,
what has fallen from me lies at my feet.
You say sorrel, I hear sorrow, hear
your sadness heal, but now you are alone.
The one with words draws the one without,
a wraith is beautiful but has no tongue.
My last gift was ‘Pere Jules’ angled melodeon,
a box of keys that belonged on or in the river.
Yesterday I went home and swam in the Medwin.
I saw your face gaze back at me under the water.