With apologies to Eamon Grennan You enter Senda’s painting in stillness, among reflections of smudged trees and brush at the edges of water, your
When I went out into the shed to find the shears my father had sent me to find, I also found the dark of
When they found the girl, blue faced in the green creek, no one knew her name, but the water owned her hair and ran
Slow tumult, then tumbling with the river’s currents, eels darkening remainders of daylight, the snapping turtle sequestering its own swamp of sorrows, damselflies–hyacinth needles