wraiths

Mists rise off the rippled skin. A fish leaps and smacks the surface. Smell the river, the green-brown water, the hint of diesel from our boat.

Further up the river’s a mirror. It seems we’re floating in the sky.

Alongside these mirrored lands

These fractal islands

From the scrub, a tntinnabulation of bellbirds; a pelican flaps over like a Pterodactyl.

I recall Judith Beveridge’s poem, River Music: ‘The bird’s song reached us, then it sharded into the river’s cold glass.’