The river racer, foam of sulphur,
Is dart and shivered mercury.
A scattered feather, pitched in peat,
Which whisks the water’s surface clean.
A never still, a bobbing weave,
A flight and dance, a flip of tail,
Its tick tricks time, alarmed and shrill,
Is chasing after waterfalls.
Then up and gone on undulations:
A shallow trace of wings and air;
A shadow left on deeper reaches;
A moment’s fire of fight and life.
And left, a woodland’s damp is hanging,
Awaiting echoes from the streams.
(first published in the collection “From the Shore”, 2011 – Shore Poets)