Friday, 14 December 2012



As if in answer
I am cut from off the tree
and lope around to reacquaint my gait
and set my loose legs straight
to rub with tooth and ankle ache
to set to walking my heart and dancer.

The night is not at all delicate.
The burlap clouds agitate and flap
fun and rough to my wonderful eyes.
The wind unsettles me and it is dark.
I walk with a perishing privileged limp
with the rope as a scarf to drag me.

St-Lambert, circa 1981.

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