In memory of Norma West Linder I have photos of us standing by painted moose in Toronto, standing next to Pierre Burton, beside other poets, in taverns and living rooms. I wonder where you are now, Spirit Island girl. Arranging letters in some heavenly Scrabble game? Sitting on a park bench under lemon trees humming
Anthropic Principles – the universe appears as it does because if it were different we would not be here to observe it – Random House Word Menu. I fail to see you, your sun dog’s counterglow blurs my horizon the chaos that is mine bends the light curvatures of time blue shifts into tears, orbiting
The Cruellest Blade “might I cling to the blade of the hour as does the stick-brown bone and may I mark the milkweed’s state of mind” – Walking Bethany Hills Approaching Devil’s Elbow by John B. Lee Perhaps I should leave these walls, decorative box wrapped up in brick and window, well-worn faces fogging up
