Lakes National Park, South Island, New Zealand.
THE BLECHYNDEN BACH
You by the heater
and I, in the chair,
but where were the other three
who should have been there,
curled up on the couches
sprawled on a bed?
From a sleeping bag pokes out
just one tousled head.
It’s Finn in a dreamland
of raspberry drops and lemonade
longing to wake
and see the ice stand
thick on the streams
in the river glade land.
But where are the others?
Where are the brothers?
We called ourselves we –
we were a family:
where are we?
Silence h…
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