night came
in a mist adrift with crows.
on crutches of bleak poplars
night came to give

the testament of toppled pines.
revealed, written
with(in) the grey patience
of rain;
lifted slowly,
bred out
of river beds.

the hard oar stroke of
the wind
through the swell of
the sky.

there must have been a narrative
running somewhere
behind the rain, the night,
the crows and trees.

from the night's watermark
a philosophy was begged,
listening became resistance.

Also by Steven Reid taking liberties -->

Steven Reid lives in Ontario, Canada.

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