Fog sprawls like grey lilies from a dropped bouquet
as the day cools. Beautiful women in rainbow trout saris
swim in shoals down the Embarcadero, flicking tails and
flashing eyes. I sit with a book of poems, sixty years old,
ink still wet, each verse a love letter. I tear out each page,
careful not to disturb the words, fold then into damselflies,
cast them on the breeze. I wait for that special one to rise,
sip the air with full, tight lips, and leap like quicksilver
into the still pool I cup in my moon-curved hand.
Oz Hardwick is a York-based poet, photographer, and academic. His latest poetry collection is The Ringmaster’s Apprentice (Valley Press, 2014), and he is co-author, with Amina Alyal, of the Saboteur-shortlisted Close as Second Skins (IDP, 2015). He has delusions of musical competence, and his one regret is that he is not Belgian. His website can be found here.