Night River

Electric lights float on the night river;

sailing boats of stars jostle a sway

in the approach of the deeper winter

that will bring its rigor mortis 

and a hunt for the wren who beckons

luckless men from the banks.

And what men there have been,

what a collection: some to forgive,

some to be forgiven by, some whose names

I have forgotten. Or blotted out. 

This bristle of fluid reflections 

gleam upon the ebony water,

I watch them tell their lie 

and seem to glide away -

icy and luminous.

The cold mists my breath

and stiffens my remorse, I toss it in,

it tries to swim, but sinks - 

a new pebble to taunt the sky -

another stone to rub alongside the submersion

of other abandoned, abortive emotions.

Avenging mummers raise their dead bird

upon a spike, their loud shouts resound

too near in the thin nakedness of the air.

I murmur my Latin to no one, more lost words

escape beneath the gasps from my mouth.

We raise up and we wrench down, 

we should wear battle armour

for this kind of treachery of ourselves. 

Image from pixabay