[three fragments]
*
following its contours
the first desire when resting
is to salt my feet:
hang them out to dry
*
head full of horizon
every stone I cast
becomes a bird
*
reaching the mouth doesn’t mean going home
going home doesn’t mean being swallowed whole
I really like this Graham. I’ve always found it hard to write about the Brissie without likening it to a damn snake.
interesting poem with an interesting photo..
I had to look at the tags, couldn’t imagine this is your Brisbane. Not sure if I am more impressed or disappointed.
Wow…that last stanza is just brilliant!
I’m originally from an estuary region; the Humber is not quite as tricky to navigate as the coiling Brisbane, but it is equally muddy and murky……I love the last stanza too, but am particularly drawn to the salting of feet and hanging out to dry…….for the Humber region was a fishing port and further up the coast is Whitby, where smoke house kippers endeavour to ward off any remaining vampires. The Lost Shark is always a beautiful beginning to the journey of my day.
love these lines, sir:
reaching the mouth doesn’t mean going home
going home doesn’t mean being swallowed whole
and that’s an amazing pic!
keep up the ambition!