One by one

I won't let the summer fill me with song for I am silent
in the inverse of this tree, as intense as a pelican's flight in rain.
I know good times won't keep singing, but an empty lake

is as resonant as infrared. It resounds around me as claw prints
of waterbirds become stone. Listen to the clouds
sweeping underground, surface polished to concrete resolution.

The whiffs of past afternoon vibrations or winter reflections
feel like ultraviolet arpeggios. The stiletto notes
of all this cacophony do not disturb my stillness.

I watch as a fish chorus breathes in unison
and, one by one,
entire pools of inheritance are stolen
by a heron's persistent stare.

Vivienne Glance (Western Australia)

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