Tell me a poem,

she says.

I have but one,

 says I.

The sun rose today

with your

face on it.

Poor Lucy from Alde Bye Gorge

What if

there is no beginning

or no end

and the only creation

is recreation?

What if my atoms were the atoms of

an ancient slave

working on the pyramids?

Maybe the bone Lucy uses

as a hammer

to crack a nut

is from the hip of my ancient cousin.

Perhaps our atoms dwell

in the body of a hound

that snitches a morsel 

from Lucy's lunch.

What if

there is only life and death

or death and life?

Perhaps it is all just magic?

Perhaps the sky is falling

Sometimes I dream I hear

some muffled drumming

but soon 

the drumming stops

then

after a silent minute drums on .

The drummer says

he drums for the soldiers

of this war.

Or was it the last?

Or is it the next?

In some dreams 

the drummers change

but

the dreadful beat remains

A night near Sioux Lookout

She was exquisite.

I, (one might presume)

had a pleasing

exterior.

I pleaded for her favor.

She gave me some sweet tea

and

a warm piece of bannock.

No jam I asked?

No jam she said.

I listened for GOD

and she said

she didn't need to know

if I believed in her or not.

Okay- just don't nag.

On the mornings

when the dew has turned 

the grass to frosty white

and the leaves of trees 

turn red and gold.

I become aware winter

the season of the  

 the  snapping trees

requires the making 

of plans.