Four poems for Ian McCulloch

(1957– 2019)

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.