Image: Unsplash, downloaded (https://unsplash.com/photos/ZlJ70xq0pO8) 16.1.2022.
The River and its Reeds
We stook the burden of ourselves
By hand, even though we are blind,
And the land, black stone,
And the air hard,
Heavy with thirst.
Yet there exists a vapour,
A bassline, trembling,
As thick weaves of smoke flower
On the horizon, here,
Where the darkness we don’t know
Is somehow nearer,
Where there is always more to do,
And where the gummy top notes
Of our emotions bend,
Only when rendered to the river
And its reeds.
About the Author: A poet, part-time academic in narratological complexity, and financial journalist, Dublin born Oisín Breen's widely reviewed debut collection, ‘Flowers, all sorts in blossom, figs, berries, and fruits, forgotten’ was released Mar. 2020.
Breen has been published in a number of journals, including About Place, Door is a Jar, Northern Gravy, The Blue Nib, Books Ireland, The Seattle Star, ZiN Daily, La Piccioletta Barca, The Bosphorus Review of Books, The Kleksograph, In Parentheses, The Madrigal, and Dreich magazine.
