Only time I've ever walked on water was over
a stretch of Roundstone Bog surrounding the spot
where Alcock and Brown put their airy shell of metal
safely down on that soft surface, an ocean of turf
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spreading silence for miles inside a stone ring
of peaks, sea glitter in the distance and the telltale
beige of coral strands, and a few astonished sheep
gurgling their panic and indignation - as they were
yesterday when I walked by them, settling then
to chew things over as usual, one hooded crow
taking off across white waterlilies (scalloped hearts
on dark water), the sodden earth sagging under me
as I glimmered in the gawk of amber, horizontal eyes.