The Sunday Poem, by Cliff Fell

2026-02-21 - 17:06

The way things be It’s true that everything’s always changing, the way a sunbeam glances off the fridge or the shadows turn from violet to indigo or the way your voice will slip a semi-tone when you’re talking on the phone and you guess someone else is listening. So I’ll wait for you under the archway where the river longs to persist, to abide beyond its turbulence and flow and all the other laws that water must obey; and in my river vigils I will listen to the language of the bridge and wake from a dream of kissing you in the dawn and river mist.