Across the river, children
are eating snow, their lips
the colour of tiny kingfishers
in the numbing cold. The delight
they take in the melting of each
snowflake on their tongues reminds me:
joy is there, in everything, and even
when we can’t see it.
A moment ago I heard
a raven speak: feed me,
stay away, come over here,
pay attention! Imagine! Up
until that moment the ravens
and I had not been
on speaking terms.
The moon-coloured stones
you piled high above the tide line -
in the morning they are still there!
Even the river stealing past
in the darkest night becomes another way
for grace to slip through…
