Halide Halos

It's been a hot minute since my last post— summer in Montreal is a lively endeavor: Jazz Fest, Nuits D'Afique, Fireworks, all at once after 7 months of harsh winter. We also went on a vacation to Bobcaygeon where I took a lot of the shots you'll see here. I've been writing too. Poems have been coming less frequently then they were for awhile, I heard Stallings talking about the fear that comes over a poet in a dry spell, and although I've not quite run dry I know just what she means. 

  Red winged 

   blackbird prince 

 of reeds


—Will Felepchuck 

At Pigeon Lake

The sky as wide as wind,

stratus scuttle past.

From this distance cloud-shadow

takes the forest fast,

tamps down wild green,

leaves lolling Poplars

on the shoreline between

shades— gray falters—

a slow rain drums

sunlight pouring down,

a cloud hatched sun,

gold pools then crowns.

This passing into darkness,

this lapsing into life—

the scythe of the moon, its blackness

catching light. 

Transition

Only an omen remained of dream,

before it broke—

field-wind filled a wizened leaf,

a hollowed oak,

thin cloud spun in convex skies.

I left my bed,

crossed the hallway, peered outside.

All unsaid—

I watched you turn and pull away.

Your absence spread over the room,

solemn as dust

aloft in light on long afternoons— 

brilliant then lost

beyond the golden edge cut by

our crooked blind.

Husk me from this blue as shy

as a child’s goodbye.

To Lugh

Come slanting down, silhouette.

Off of silver, on to jet.

Parabola, then point. Go long—

soften, suffuse, dapple. Dawn

on frost tipped blades of grass.

Scintillate from gutter-glass.

Be revelatory, glory, break.

Rarify and obfuscate.

Decompose through prisms, bow.

Infrared, indigo.

Bend to beacon, cross the sea.

When I die comfort me.

Fringe the iris, form my hand.

Get eclipsed. Come again.

Goodbye

for now

forever

with a wave

in a letter

a day after

at the door

with a cut

and a what’d

  you do that for.