Paul Willason Poet Free verse

Notes About The Poem

On An Evening in April

The water, 
the distant buildings,
the small boats nestled 
in their own reflections,
all seem captive 
to a still 
that has settled 
the evening, 
paused in a lull 
between breaths.

There is no wind 
to crease the surface 
or send a tremor 
through the trees - 
the only movement 
is the gentle drift 
of a thought
towards meaning 
sleeping somewhere 
beneath the quiet.

At times 
I have come close 
to its place of rest, 
felt its presence 
edged around
a hollow 
as you would 
with someone 
sunk deep
in the soft comfort
of a bed. 

I reach out 
but what was there
has gone
leaving nothing
except an imprint,
an indented space,
still warm
in the arms
of an April evening.

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