by Kristina Andersson Bicher
I have eaten a clean & decent cheese; drank a dram of Bach. Washed then wandered
into a waffled hotel robe. Reordered my legs on the bed and many-feathered pillow.
Outside a baby grand wriggles on a meat hook. A barge pulls the grey-green ribbon
of its grief along the canal. The carmine shutters are the flared & fixed gills of a giant
wooden fish. Your voice is a vine of church and stream. The ancient clocks whir their
tiny tambourines. Soon, we will be two racehorses in the age of elephants.