Vessel

I place water

in a glass pitcher

on the evening table

at the centre of the meal:

the stream outside

flashes back

late afternoon light:

water within the pitcher

rocks a little, prisoner

of glass and restive perhaps

to be what it once was

in full flow and not

this filled roundness,

now shaped and stilled.

But summon no Ondine

to embellish the thought,

pour out and drink

the caught coolness

that breathes here. Beyond the window,

in the high perfection

of a February night sky,

a winter moon has risen,

summoner of waters, filler of pitchers.

Below its slim sickle

travel the tones of the stream

that fed this still vessel

reflecting wine, fruit and bread.

Copyright Hudson Review Summer 2004
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