the Seine kisses the brow of her banks, strokes the underside of chin, lobes of new green foliage gaze up from beneath her swirling. the sound laps at the doorway, floods the air in the room. new pools emerge between grass blades on the path, daisies stretch and twist away.
bit by bit, the water is rising. it has swallowed the floor of the wash house and chased the ants inside. ivy climbs up the stone exterior, across the window glass. a cuckoo calls alarm. the line marked 8 now hidden, the darkened metre creeps up to 9.
step from grass to water on a fluid avenue. whirl away to the flooded Ash grove where timbers frame the mist reflected, hung and dampening the boughs high above. past a choir of willows in mourning, a wake for her decorated passage.