Thursday, September 26, 2019

Four poems for Ian McCulloch




1.

North of the Mattawa, Trout Lake,
grey-eyed clear and distant; a moment

which, seemingly. The beginning
of the long dash. Time, and

endless.


2.

Accelerates: the arid drift
of Nipissing, September.

We are caught now
in the mandibles of surviving.

What light
on remaining colour.


3.

Culled, from geologic excess.
If I grow weary

of being resilient. Airlifted, how
the dawn unwinds.


4.

The efficiency
of syllables. The Trout Lake monster,

northern gateways, settlement. A pantomime
of balance, condition. This scrap

of bare earth.


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