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as we tread further
on our separate paths
we fade further
out of sight

stars are all we have
to connect our diverging lives

I’ve seen this continent’s oceans,
And all its creatures in motion.
But above it all for splendour
stands the briny Maritimes.

Where the mist and the rain
Blast life into me,
And the old white pines

[I: Still Life]

I walk the banks of the stream of electric thought for a ford
back across. For here I am scattered, thoughts asunder, in
tatters. No recollection of having crossed. The stream will always
be found among the industrial sound. This is life in
Metachthonia. But green can always be found among the
industrial sound. There is still life in Metachthonia.

She radiates across the skyline.
I have swept through her oak, maple, and pine
as a spirit released from corporeal ways,
or a man who is still from the kill ablaze.

And though I've seen her aflame in the sun,
just as I have in the gloom of the rain,
and as I have in dead winter days,