—after Exodus 33:22
Like the swish of a field mouse
in a gauntlet of summer’s spent grass,
or the waft of air under her pursuers’ wings.
Sound the colour of the grass itself: golden flax—
not bright or brassy—more common,
muted. Not a whisper, as some might say:
there aren’t any words. A breath’s texture
like a hint of watery almost-spent sunshine
between low cloud and Black Mountain’s
sundown head. What I think I hear
is like a first flutter in the womb. I want
to be sure, or sure enough, one day, certain.
By Lesley-Anne Evans
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Lesley-Anne Evans, an Irish-Canadian poet, writes from Feeny Wood, a contemplative woodland retreat in Kelowna, B.C. Canada, on the unceded ancestral lands of the Syilx Okanagan people. Lesley-Anne’s debut poetry collection Mute Swan, was published by The St. Thomas Poetry Series (Toronto) in 2021. Her periodical publications include The Antigonish Review, Barren Magazine, Cascadia Review, Contemporary Verse 2, Lake Journal, The Porch Magazine, and Presence Journal. Lesley-Anne’s work is awarded.