The Gleam the Mirroring Variety

Lorelei Bacht

The river that once put me on / will take me off like muddy gloves / a piece of cloth / froth of the sleep / of fish and frogs / a drunken promise / buried in the bottle green moss / my hair a lair for the drowned beast / a home for fallen conjectures / and forgotten constellations / it is always already gone.

It moves in the invisible / grabs nighttime walkers by the heel / as they clasp their hand to their heart / they may catch a glimpse of a cloud / gush of red fish / flock of mandarin ducks.

You are a shape a piece of wood / your name is inconsequential / I only want to run through you / to make more of myself / if not you then a grub will do / or a leaf or a bird / or any of the grey faces / you see at work / or on the street.

Every stone twig / every catfish / bears the image of me.

Lorelei Bacht is a European poet living in Asia. When she is not carrying little children around or encouraging them to discover the paintings of Edvard Munch, she can be found collecting bones and failing scientific experiments. Her recent work can be found and/or is forthcoming in OpenDoor Poetry, Litehouse, Visitant, Quail Bell and The Wondrous Real. She is also on Instagram: @lorelei.bacht.writer