Friday, 10 July 2015

Рибарска приказка/A fisherman’s tale

The softest plunk in near-dark
where bait and hook sink
through water. A turning point
of sorts beckons in cloud banks
beyond a pub car-park’s clunked doors.

It’s not what we’re about:
it’s almost a distraction, in fact.

Overnight, we watch trees
lose shape and disappear.
At dawn, they reassert themselves.

As do we, and the small, frail fish
we’ve yanked up
from entirely predictable depths.

There’s a photo in the cupboard.
It's that or something else
which might put us in the frame.

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