#CanadianWriters
Cruising these residential Sunday streets in dry August sunlight: what offends us is the sanities: the houses in pedantic rows, the p…
My shadow said to me: what is the matter Isn’t the moon warm enough for you why do you need
Confess: it’s my profession that alarms you. This is why few people ask me to d… though Lord knows I don’t go out… I wear dresses of sensible cut
In the burned house I am eating b… You understand: there is no house,… yet here I am. The spoon which was melted scrapes… the bowl which was melted also.
I would like to watch you sleeping… which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter
The red fox crosses the ice intent on none of my business. It’s winter and slim pickings. I stand in the bushy cemetery, pretending to watch birds,
She squats, bare feet splayed out, not graceful; skirt tucked around ankl… Her face is lined and cracked. She looks old,
He is here, come down to look for… It is the song that calls you back… a song of joy and suffering equally: a promise: that things will be different up t…
There is nothing to be afraid of, it is only the wind changing to the east, it is only your father the thunder your mother the rain
Snow packs the roadsides, sends du… onto the pavement, moves through vision like a wave or sand… The bus charges this winter, a whale or blunt gray
The puppet of the wolf I have not made yet encloses my right hand: fur stubbles my wrists, a tongue, avid, carnivorous,
Evening comes on and the hills thi… red and yellow bleaching out of th… The chill pines grow their shadows… Below them the water stills itself… a sunset shivering in it.
The bronze clock brought with such care over the sea, which ticked like the fat slow hea… of a cedar, of a grandmother, melted and its hundred years
i The children on the lawn joined hand to hand go round and round each arm going into
Marriage is not a house or even a tent it is before that, and colder: The edge of the forest, the edge of the desert