Transparent Words - Poetry

 
Carolyn O’Connell

CARAVAN

 
I.m. Vivian Stanshall.
 
 
His caravan rides the river
drawn by gardens four in hand 
reins are hawsers, outriders buoys,
the tin bow of its roof hides
remains of cabins, the floor.
 
Where the geese nest it‘s tied,
a bend where the past throws up,
beyond the silent eel island
fuse-lined to his sound.
 
Stare and you’ll see him there
painting this much drawn view,
a man in a Monet hat , blond bearded
roll-ups and brushes to hand.
 

Pg12

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