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ImageA vision

            April 11/2013   for Chris of course

[& what’s amazing is that AFTER I wrote this poem I read these lines from Louise Cotnoir: “There, the dead travel under the birds’ breasts”]

 

 

The barge being pulled up the Fraser is heavy

With dead trees.

 

This what I see on your anniversary morning.

A common act, yes

 

But what happens next isn’t.

First on one wet length, a gull lands, then another,

 

White as pain or happiness or nothing,

Crows too, a few starlings, and before the tug draws

 

The sight past my seeing there is flight gathered there

Not death, all upon the limbs

 

That lie inert are birds, wings folded over loss

As if the barge being dragged up the river

 

Is now simply an island

And the birds are forgiving or angry or nothing

 

As they settle upon the stacks of trunks

And ride in beauty upon the waters.

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