• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 05
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Meandering along the bank,
she opens a door between the reeds
and waddles through the veil.
Hark-hark she orders
her soft feathered trail,
weep-weep they answer.

Prowing out on saurian oars,
at the touch of the cool lake
her feathers shake and bristle.
Wake-wake she cries
to the tiny shivering vessels,
weep-weep they reply.

Her bottle-brown head
plucks from her double
a crumpled green rush.
Hark-hark she calls
tearing it up for the sailing fluff,
weep-weep echo all.

From the bank, a family watch
with a dog held tightly on a leash.
Each, in their turn, yawns
bearing a vast hole
glistening with stars

it won't always
be like this

says the boy aloud
she won't, she can't
always be around