Little Cormorant by Ayesha Chatterjee

The river was a compromise.

Like scent, the colour slid, initially.
Camera film camouflaged it all before

it blossomed into thick tea-green.
A bee-eater, a monitor.

Given time, the body, water-born, resists
the pull of land. You spread your mind

like wings of a water crow, steady yourself, let go.

— from Juniper Volume 8, Issue 1