The River Dart in Winter

In winter the river is an outlaw
Imprisoned in itself, it looks ashen with hunger.
Chained to beads of ice
It pulls the little it can down into its belly.

The fish pay their rent in breath,
In bubbles of light that rise
And sacrifice themselves to the air.

Stark in its beauty, manacled to February
It drags along a retinue of leaves;
In the Estuarys mouth it dumps the clouds reflections.

The encoded message of birdsong
Drifts from the deep wood,
Rinses out the clogged up world.

On the iced over mud flats, where the moth-eaten moon sleeps,
Boats are stranded, sails rimmed with frost.
And the river sneaks by, saying nothing.

BP