Calling it by another name - Easter Sunday, 8am
By Jenny Pollak
How cool the sea looks
all those blue miles to itself
the sun on the estuary.
And the river is lost
in a glitter it doesn't own.
Seven days of wood is coming downstream
with a river-load of rain
and all the spent fires of a continent
of trees.
And the cormorant
who disappears
and returns
somewhere else
and with a splash
vanishes
again
and each time closer or more
distant
leaves the surface
charged
and otherwise
electrifyingly
difficult to define
without describing
how the world is
expanded:
first by its rising
then
by its absence.