| Canoeist Your gaze patrols the water and your pull is long. Night's rains have made the river full. Now that the surface-ruffling wind has died, you see the hawthorn flow, the alders glide. Beside the boat, your blade cuts through the sky, uncovering the stars the clouds imply. Stephen Payne |
If you have any comments on this poem, Stephen Payne would be
pleased to hear from you.
