Paene insularum

I suppose there was a marsh once,

There, where I heard of Sirmio –

But winter asked for warmer work,

So I might have skipped on, to the Lesbia pages.


Do you remember the island of Ely,

The sort of place where they always make stands?

If our island was ever an island, like that one,

It’s gone underground.

Did you even go down to the river much, back then?


I think that you know about sensitive skin,

And that midges breath differently when in soft water,

Still bite as we blush, though.


I feel strongest in places I’ve almost forgotten,

You like sediment.