Lights By the River

by Oliver Hunter

Remember,

there were lights by the river,

a trail of thread through grey grass

There was a waltz by the river,

it was an old voice, it was your ache

After dark,

you came with us to the river,

fell deep the sea of grass blades,

fell deep the washed bones of trees,

broken and limbs like horns

Took a whiskered gentleman by the hand,

the raw silk of his palms,

the featherlight ruff of his cuffs

As I see it,

we danced the steps of the willing victims

eaten like lambs at dawnlight

We danced so gently the tall blades

drawn in circles in the riverside grass,

up like marshfire, black the banks,

burnt the sky, but ether–light were you,

so blooming by the riverside

The pelt of your ears was sleek

and greyer than grey,

and bluer than sky

I can still see,

though my lips are slight with salt,

the tiny flowers that were your pupils

The wonder that was there

in the dark river dancing,

lights trailing over the hills

into the black marshes

full with the water–called,

eyes upward turned

There was fear and heartbeat

and electic white spark,

pulse like sugar at the tearducts

There was fervent movement,

getting of grails, shifts, garments

There are miniscule twitches

at the corner of your mouth?

This tells us that we are hungry

Now then,

Come to the river: there are lights

Come in the watergrass: there is dancing

Come into jaws of black fire,

if you please

Below is:

a layer of silt on which

the surface feeds stars and blades,

Below that: drowned trees, crabs,

tunnels for secret roots,

thick sand, water that chokes,

the secret swallowed world

that eats your dancing

and calls your steps

Well, it was,

As always, in the end,

like a tide: unavoidable.