Owen Vince – Locked


after Kate Carr’s Fjord

Gauche, the line of a horizon
split from its pasts
and its present. Walking on it to bring

these flowers, this marigold
and rose, their seeds tucked
into a parcel no larger

than my palm. I carried this
to your garden
in Reykjavik so that, with right wind

and rain, and light (and care),
it could bloom, slowly,
from its bed

of mould. The set apart
of palms as if to cup
a ball, falling, the shape

of an iris, the backbone
of a flower. On your window sill
in summer, in winter, as strong

as a succulent
it, too,
will bloom.


Owen is a poet, ambient music journalist, and editor of HARK Magazine. He lives in coastal Suffolk.