Ian Bell
by the time the splash of you has reached this
pool, this rock-hollow in the palm of an ancient
mountains hand, you’ll have heard from fern
and bracken, what birds say in song, the chat
of old baboon and wildcat, clouds whispering the
promise of rain on its way to fill your arteries
you’ll tell me this as I sit with you, yet still you
hear the turbulence tumbling through my own
boulder strewn interior, which you’ll mention
to others, listening, a little closer to the sea
Featured at The Red Wheelbarrow on 30 June 2022