LYNX, Number 29:1, February 2014

the bakeshop cafe
a cappella harmonies
waft from the kitchen
on cinnamon-scented air
a teardrop steeps in my tea


that biting winter
my sister carried me
over hungry snowbanks
that swallowed our footsteps
before the bus opened its mouth


I wear
the wind's black breath
my raven disguise
wheeling over darkling mountains
haunted by moonbathing ghosts


I Am


I am
the black
and holy roundness
of stone
and water

I am
the loon
singing lamentations
to the four winds
and seven seas

I am
the bonedust
of winter
on the
bent jackpine

I am
the broken
guitar strings
a rusted vehicle
of song

I am
the bruised sky
of January
a poet ghost
in an empty chair