A cold blast
and we are underwater,
Swimming against a tide of grit and air.
Waves beat through our bones, wind weeps
Closing its lips on the sun. Salt streaks the horizon.
Today the river is broken backed, dented, raw,
Scraping at banks only deep water remembers:
Wood decays, stone polishes stone, relics
Of old London compost into food for eels.
endure wind as they adore time,
Their roots grip the soft earth like claws.
Leaves ride invisible Furies, bare branches
Combing those high cloud creatures.
Trees are dark bodies that pulse and breathe
away, a forest whose city streets end
in silence echoes inside
wood and grain, my mouth on your mouth.
We are entangled like wild vines.