Tadoussac

Halfway in

the stand of black birch

flecked red, pale mitts of leaf.

The battered stones

of a ruined cistern, a field

that once was tilled.


Then the drop

toward water, transformation

of path to plank,

a whirlpool down to shore.

Wooden turret

in an ocean of air.


O god the water.


Rippling prairie

of glass — the wind, the wind.

Unchanged world born of glaciers.


Distant white hides, scarred,

break surface: an arch

a swell of whaleskin.


Below water, out

of ears' reach a fierce

moan, the call.


The dipping into air

lung full of ocean —

mist, exhale — mingling

of sky and sea,


the insatiable darkness of the firs.