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Sea change
Floe broken off, mere speck now,
bear cubs whine, drift south.
They prowl the ice.
Mom dives in, swims to them —
for quite some time.
(published by Whatcom Watch)
Still glow
(with a nod to Albert Camus)
Heads down, no way to say sorry,
mistake, we drag laden canoe
to the beach, paddle choppy water,
her behind, steering.
We churn up a narrow channel,
hope current won’t take hold,
sweep everything downstream.
Camp pitched without speaking,
soup heated over anemic fire,
we swallow hot broth of remorse.
Forgiveness hangs in smoke
below sun turning cutthroat red.
We place sleeping bags far apart,
try not to shiver, lie alone,
sob as meteors trail to black.
I dream I am not lost,
the sun casts no shadows,
and somehow I escape night.
Coals still glow at dawn.
The canoe and she aren’t gone.
(published by Harbinger Asylum; different version, “Still glow at dawn,” published by Howl) |
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Courtesy Sand Hills Sentinel |
Copyright photo by Timothy Pilgrim
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