Poetry

Recalling the Canal Old, like the dragon in a silver-green sun. The evening begun. Birds of steam, and our son. The fish blinks a message, then sinks with a smile. In silence we'll dine, until dinner is done. There in the window. Hole in the sky. Grey are the eyes of a lost lullaby. Memories past, in a lingering light, as bright as the sky in the dragonfly's eye. Old, we remember, the boat on the plate. Canal, brown in state. Cold, our son on the gate. Drift and recall, in peace, our minds flow, to a long dead September so long far ago.