days of isolation

 

Branimir Balogivic


should have been like resting on smooth glass flattened and spread out in absence and distance and timeless...

the resting place of angels tired and breathless from the fighting and tyranny 

but i never found that reflection of the centre

the mirror of the hollow,

the moss lined cave

the pearl in a shell

the glass was always smeared

and the more I wiped

the more what lay beneath fell further away as if sinking into the depths of dark ocean

 

there was a time just once

 

fog descending like a blanket

walking through a cushion

seeing the fen but not with my eyes

stillness no wind just icy cold fingers stroking my face

stillness no wind no rustle no snap no flush no flutter

seeing the fen flat in my mind mapped by the drone of slow car

over there

          I’m here

                    over there

Where’s the dog?


Colin Stevens

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