A 6' perspex egg rests on the river
bed. The exploration hatch is
open. Dig into the shale and mud,
down into history, the sudden
mist on Dartmoor, London's neon.
Within the secret, the river carries
alchemy, an iron sword, pottery
scratched with words. I bought a
2" plastic egg from one of those
vending machines, threw away
the novelty toys, and put inside
everything I wanted to say. I tied
it to a helium party balloon, a
bargain from a street trader.
On the coast, when the wind
blustered out to sea, I let it go