Samiha Radcliffe
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Talking To Strangers
he was in the river
on one leg
a machine
a tree
fast water till nightfall
and him
stuck to those stones
the fifth afternoon
marooned
crouched on the bank
we followed him home like
he was a miracle
a mound of white sand
on a bright metal sheet
he bowed it’s edge
with a tight string
mandalas
he said
no two are the same
they were desert gardens
discs of whispers
a coming monsoon
just before drowning
we found
we could breathe
we were time-lapse-sequences
of new green leaves
