April 23

Giò’s fingers drip day-lit sparks of luminescence
from below, scaled sea dragons eye the surface
the sail lifts away from the water
and suddenly
and silently
all is air and the future

The snow hushes

The snow hushes my complaints as it slushes off my umbrella. “We’re sorry”, it says, “we’re April snow but we didn’t know”. It lies at my feet, is translucent and melts. Over the wall the river is rising, brown foaming.

It was a joke

– It was a joke. I didn’t
Well, it wasn’t very funny.
– No, I can see that
Not funny at all.
– But I didn’t
I don’t see how you can think it was funny.
– I thought it
Am I laughing, Danny? Am I laughing?
– No, no you’re
You’re an idiot.
– Yes I
We’re getting off now. Come on.
– I can’t
Don’t start me off again. Why not?
– My hands are still glued to the seat.