Impressions of a beautiful spring morning by the River Lagan, in long-lost 1972. By Nick Hayward.
Clouds, folding diaphanously
above a morning glance
exploding
in a pleasant place.
River-crystals forge
sub-lunar necklaces
sunlaced
through moist river airs
where dancing willow spirals
catch angels in gentle copulation
tendercouplings
truelove mosses and simple human forms.
Shadows, flanked by glistening river rocks,
diving through ancient dappling woods
a girl
sparkling, lilac-eyed, pursuing the mystic airs
that hang in warm and frosty cones
above the foggy spinning river
and friends
who spun as the shadows circled, tranquilly.
Cold thighs like sliding slippery moons
in still dark pools, suddenly faltering
trembling
towards that last cascading crimson sunset.