Writing

Nor glass nor stainless steel now comes between My wide eyes and their vision steeped in sleep – Of things that live yet live divorced ...

The ships lie out on English Bay Bright-lit like floating beacons Vancouver with her spangled hands And accents of exotic strands

My distillate of summer, that red mane Learned color from a dawn-exploding sun; And smooth stream-polished pebbles of green jade That glow..

The man in the moon Slouched up through the sky And he heaved up his shoulders And gave such a sigh That the stars in their spheres

The bells split distance as the night air splits Our breaths’ dim shadows from the forest floor, Making of each moonlit exhalation