Silver shoals flip
and shirr the calm.
A small ship on the horizon.
The hills bend to the water.
I trust you least in conversation
when you round your eyes
and make your mouth an O
pretending ignorance – not likely –
O you got wicked eyes
that needle me and piss me off, my friend
although I know you’re kind to me
and you see deep.
Plain and true
the hills and the horizon.
Your eyes were bright as coal last night,
with grief, when you were speaking of Yvonne.
to Hone 1995