Apr 22
The river runs through the neighbour’s
backyard, east to west, then dips south,
missing our yard completely. We’ve
never seen it, but we’ve heard it
alright; it sounds just like Mr’s
voice, whispering, as though he were
telling secrets in the garden,
things we should know but never will.
That’s Mr for you, always plays
his cards close to his chest, we’d say,
if the river came close enough
to give us a hint, its pssshpsssh
no longer mysterious but
making sense at last, while we get
on our knees with gratitude for
the warning we knew was coming.
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