Belinda Rule

Retired, my fathertells me things.He saw, far out to sea,a great Pacific gull,hefty, hook-beaked,hound a crow,slim brushstroke of ink.Then, from the saltbrush,a shadow. A second crow,                arrowing in fast – in my father’s voicethe thrill of the rescue rising –you could not tellif they were even friends, or ... (read more)

They are stored in a box,jewelled eggs: ... (read more)