No Lunatic Rush
picking out features
like a second language
The Night Honey Flew Free
(Illuminations not lost in translation)
The very laces of your hiking boots
pots lit under orange trees. Incapable of translation in Punjabi whatever the nightwind.
The frog piercing the Japanese cherrybloom weighs it, its metals green.
Marriage, after a long time, can become sacrifice, accommodation.
Icefolds brighten, then darken.
One comes upon the partner like an abandoned theme park.
Take your pick:
Give me your color for safe-keeping
Petrocan in Maple Ridge is closed.
Red uniforms are being smoothed for the Mounties, boots polished
O my darling Clementine
Thou art lost and gone forever (American ballad, 1946)
The hospital for stern babies shadows over deep as mine-galleries now holding silver reflective water. Katie needs expressing. This is the untranslatable language of sick children:
Nova Scotia to New England.