By Richard Carl Mather The moon appeared to float on a skein of black water and a wind sang a high pitch B, 246.94 Hertz. And...

The North Is by Richard Carl Mather Rain strikes terraces stacked in brown brick   And wind blows through the underpass.     Two...

A mallard stops, strums His feathers, beats his wings, Ready to fly over this stretch Of blue-lined water

By Richard Carl Mather So the roots of plants, trees, arteries, sewers, nervous systems, run down to the shore of the river, which...