Orchids and Bridges of Bern

Orchids. Blooming incessantly
in a window looking towards
the bight of river around Bern,
incidental, accidental,
bit of slack in the long blue rope
that is the Aare running down down
the slope of Switzerland; a fog
rising from it through the autumn,
smoking thick with winter, as if
the friction of gravity’s pull
urged water to flame. Every day,
in a window, old fingers pinch
at orchids to keep them forming
petals to be looked for from bridges.


About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
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