As if he could fold
fish from the air:
silver quick magnets,
broad sluggards of slate.
As if he could
set them swimming on the wind
barely spinning their waters
or
churning motes in a moiré.
I had wanted to be
that liquid magician;
jokes fretting at his fingertips;
skulking in his cuffs: white,
fluttering.
But his hat slewed over my eyes:
tobacco reek in its brim;
split lining spilling
blood and a stuff like feathers.
As if, netting a stickleback
in the brook below my school
it dreamed itself into a book
or unfolded into
the drape of cut swans
that had been waiting in my scissors
Words with music 
April 30, 2009 at 9:25 am
The description of the magician’s hat is very evocative.
April 30, 2009 at 9:34 pm
I think the opening is lovely – attention-grabbing and beatiful. Don’t know what ‘moire’ is. I like the combination of ‘prettiness’ and a blacker undercurrent.
May 18, 2009 at 5:53 pm
Glad you both liked this. I’m still not certain about it – one of those poems I change every time I look at it. However, I do like the opening, too.
“Moiré” (only just figured out how to get the acute accent there) is a pattern of interference you get when two identical grids are laid over each other, so the idea here is ripples passing across each other to make a more complex pattern
June 25, 2009 at 12:19 pm
As always with your poetry, language you could eat with a spoon. Stunning. In terms of meaning, the last verse is a bit opaque for me at the moment; I suspect it holds the key to the whole poem and would be keen for a hint…..