lagoon #31

we are a solemn gathering
now

I stand at the top of the path
with you
looking down into the bowl

to me
it is a forlorn sight
with the floor cracked open
like a crazed sore
scabbing
but too tender to touch

the fallen trees
are a disquiet
in the thin embrace of silence

the tall weeds
still green on moisture
stolen from the drying corpse
are a mourning crowd
leaning in
towards the heart of the bowl

one fish
two fish
remain obscenely mounted

flags
waving farewell
from grey branches
others merging by degrees
into the exhausted soil
and the dust
of a memory


© Frank Prem, 2006

Next Poem: This is the final piece in the Drought/Lagoon series. Thank you for reading to the end.

Back to Drought/Lagoon – Introduction

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