Verschenen in Poetry Monthly, Nottingham (UK), issue 42

ANCHORGROUND

From here he looks around, he hears the truth
pass by in small thin clouds, whispering in all tongues.
The state of affairs: the target list.

Bouncing images straight across frontiers
now and the poet sees himself stock-still,
calculating his breath, gazing at the sight.

  The anchor moves, but holds.

 

        Bert Bevers