Canal-path.

[bethia_cathrain]

There is ice in the river.
A swan
a reed
a house with no walls
and flowers of paint
around its door.
Snow in the air, and smoke
sharpness of winter.

Beside the water was a track
along which iron horses ride,
and halt, 
sometimes, so that faces may be seen
trapped in glass with patience
oblivion 
or inertia.

Do they know where they are, as we do
for whom each bridge has been climbed,
each path greeted to bruise
skin and palm
and knees to bloody roses?

There were chairs in the garden,
and squat stone men
fishing for air
with hooks that never reach the water.