by Elizabeth Trew
cannot lie still.
Winter swings round to rebirth its spring.
Light from the sun, pale as lemon flesh at dawn
is copper at noon, pewter at dusk.
Seed buried in volcanic ash can grow into a flower.
The daughter of a river-god
flies swifter than the wind into the woods
and turns into a tree.
A girl in a white nightdress can become a snow-queen,
a swan, or a snake.
An idea becomes a word
that permits all possible worlds.