April 2012


Travelling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead. (more…)

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If anyone should know
The number of this bus
And where it means to go,
I wish they’d say. (more…)

He lost the thread of his story in a forest,
So he went down on his knees to search for it. (more…)

Black lake, black boat, two black, cut-paper people.
Where do the black trees go that drink here?
Their shadows must cover Canada. (more…)

It’s like returning to a natal pool
after years of doing business in great waters,
and only a few will make it whole,
the dreams of youth unsullied and intact
after all they’ve seen in the world’s working mirrors,
its splendid distractions, the weight of its cold hard facts, (more…)

That tree across the way
Has been a magnet to me all this year.
What happens to it is what interests me. (more…)