Pacific Rim

Spring, training our eyes on the blues of Coal Harbour, rife with wind we rest, cupped in a moment.   How the Salish Sea has changed and still beneath wave and pavement thrums a heart connected to trade seasoned by years of muscling voyage anchored in exuberance – this cloth, this metal, this animal wealth…

Day One: What i Look Like in the Morning

Happy National Poetry Month. Here’s a poem: What I Look Like In the Morning gold for gold, sea and sky muscle across coal harbour view i look, like a muzzy-eyed heiress: nobody died for this?