Poetry

Aqua

countries are

fucked fortresses.
new possibilities expressed in spaces once inaccessible.
cities weeping at their reflection.
floes running into culverts.
seeing those who died where you stand.
hammocks sleeping shadow.
avalanches.
young buildings overlooking flatland.
water oozing into channels.
bleeding children — occupying their past, present and future selves — skating on pillars.
polarised skin repelling in the glassy silence of infant towns.

Joshua Lingard