Featured Poem or Prose

The Round Pond
by Stephen L Davey

        For the straggler from the rain

who sleep-walks in the hothouse,

red fish move under tepid water

focused through the open diaphragm

of some genetic tropical memory

struggling to know

if this colour and heat

is a woman in a long dress now departed,

or the pain that seems to follow

when rain exchanges for warm vapour

in a glasshouse.

        And do these fish perform

when no one is watching through the

silk-covered lens, in real tropical glens,

where longing is superfluous.

(Published in ‘Page Seventeen’, 2006).