Poem
Weather Notes
by Rebecca Irvine Bilkau
Autumn/Winter 2011
Wind, like a conductor’s baton, sets the towpath
tuning and in the chime of landing stage against
whicker of the horses on the far bank, the star turn
is the birch tree on finger cymbals. The playing leaves
flash undersides bright and dark as modesty,
their shade between any silver, any green
I can name, and their notes shimmer between
all known staves, but somehow catch the net of
language, waiting to be relayed. And when I
return to our quiet, I hold the phrases to the light,
sing them, so you can hear the air tease tunes
out of the jetty, the ponies, the trees. You tap
your foot in time, hum the colours back to me,
marvellous and commonplace as the breeze.
© Rebecca Irvine Bilkau