Three Poems
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At first I’m startled by the sound of bicycles

Above my head. And then I see them, two swans

Flying in to their runway behind the reeds.

The bridge is slippery, the grass so sodden

That water seeps into my shoes. But now

The sun has come out and everything is calm

And beautiful as the end of a hangover.

Christmas was a muddle

Of turkey bones and muted quarrelling.

The relatives have left.

Solitary walkers smile and tell each other

That the day is wonderful.

If only this could be Christmas now –

These shining meadows,

The hum of huge wings in the sky.


'Arete is a journal as exquisite in its execution as in its intentions.'
John Updike

'Vous m’avez donné un grand plaisir … votre revue m’est très sympathique et proche.'
Milan Kundera