May 23: Heart

become accustomed to the weight memory lays across your heart lift it anyway become schooled in the crack and creak pain of rising one more time kneel anyway numb your skin to the lash every absence a thorn lean in somewhere in all this brush and scrub meaning and renewal send green tight curled leaves…

May 22: Certainty of Trees

Gratitude to the rain. Gratitude to the sky. Gratitude to the many tiny things. What are we supposed to do? Arise into cities, bloom and shed light? It’s true, I don’t think much about how my brothers live. There they stand, gnarled still offering softest green in faithful bargain, to the sky. Look how their…

Rainwashed

rainwashed morning sky could last until dusk all low smooth silver and smoke elm queen shakes out her tresses daughter plum shyly offers a branch blue black asphalt path, too, shines here, the cedar fence there, willow trellis peonies contemplate sun to come reach leaves glow yellow, red, burgundy forecasting and remembering fall even here,…

Who Wears the Pants?

Victoria Day just passed, thinking about Queens, Empresses, fashion. Those dresses and notions that decent women’s legs could not be seen. Ripples of that time, that empire, still eddy around the world. Researching my next novel. Watching fashion historian Karolina Zebrowska’s videos, and found a comment that led me to this article. Who knew? French…

Call and Response: a Flash Collaboration

say that you’ll light a fire at your going out into the night say that you’ll carry your bright orb of soul through the transit say that you’ll flow through the grey into rosen with gold in your wake say all this: but don’t speak, only colour the sky for a voice. All images by…

Saint Behind the Glass

Here’s a lyrical meditation from NYC author Elizabeth Frank, whose latest novel arrives from Stonehouse Press in November. Elizabeth Frank

camping in search of bears

there was bear poop at the foot of the ravine just by the trail full of berry husks, intriguing to the dogs. there was a cougar on victoria park golf course just below downtown that could put a hole in one. there was a lynx at rest in the legislature grounds approving the shape of…

May 3: these old boots

I have cared too much what people think but not about these old boots; nobody worth knowing would scoff at their scuffed toes rebuilt soles, leather scarred by usefulness. I hope my face becomes as lovely. Today’s image by Christoph Shütz on pixabay.com

May 2: At First Light

at first, light shocks sound shining from leaf to leaf, and one upturned vessel of bright hope strawberry blossom born before may at first light, then darkening lines whirl describing thermals over the city, around again cranes and snow geese aloft, whistling to themselves a thousand thousand blossoms, wings, windows means of greeting the song….

Day 30: blue toothed

night replies, she’s examining oceans, their toothéd blue hunger for land come plamu’g come sea wolf come pu’tupaq come gulls ask the ocean where to find her, ocean answers, trace the river come chejauk come heron come amisk come ti’amug in lace of willows at river’s wrist she twists the strands was, is, will be…

Day 29: silence of violins

violins poised for the lift conductor’s baton there are birds in trees, and seas full of fish obedient night sings cellos tympanic moon on high this moment wakeful pray your small verse then listen for the One.   Today’s image courtesy of ADD on pixabay.com

Day 28: Could Have Been

once tropical this northern city once underwater this broad prairie once seasonal this could have been the way of it still we do not know all the words to this song. Edmonton’s Geological History  Today’s image from Norman Bosworth on pixabay.com