All day those quiet men
watched, their eyes held
open with splinters of flame:
it’s Easter and boats sail out
on the river running cold and free
past Cathedral Street, spires
and a new
park, stone wall skirting
cliff’s edge, eggshell white
against pastel sky
where screaming jays
lurch
and break and plummet
above green
willow haze.
How empty the twilight now
where river snarls a wrecked
raft of logs
and late runners follow their dogs
into the hollow jaws of night.
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