building river art

from our fathers’ heritage

grinding-stones and bricks

a man in waders

builds sculptures in stone and brick

a river appeased

crumbs on the table

the lingering smell of toast

a day with promise

across the old pond

abandoned pink bicycles

another shooting

at first light of dawn

the squawking of angry birds

setting the day’s mood

the tick of the clock

a heartbeat, low, sonorous

dark clouds moving north

amidst ruins a

lonely statue contemplates

the meaning of life

from above a gong

time for meditation

extending the tone

with pen and paper

my head bowed over the page

in another world

another grey day

I find the colours of hope

etched on memory