Recalling the Canal

Old, like the dragon
in a silver-green sun.
The evening begun.
Birds of steam, and our son.
The fish blinks a message,
then sinks with a smile.
In silence we'll dine,
until dinner is done.

There in the window.
Hole in the sky.
Grey are the eyes
of a lost lullaby.
Memories past,
in a lingering light,
as bright as the sky
in the dragonfly's eye.

Old, we remember,
the boat on the plate.
Canal, brown in state.
Cold, our son on the gate.
Drift and recall,
in peace, our minds flow,
to a long dead September
so long far ago.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.