#CanadianWriters
This is the plum season, the night… blue and distended, the moon hazed, this is the season of peach… with their lush lobed bulbs that glow in the dusk, apples
There are similarities I notice: that the hills which the eyes make flat as a wall… together, open as I move to let me through; become
How did I get so dutiful? Was I… Going around as a child with a sma… sweeping up dirt I didn’t make, or out into the yard with a stunte… weeding the gardens of others
Let others pray for the passenger… the dodo, the whooping crane, the… everyone must specialize I will confine myself to a meditat… upon the giant tortoises
He, who navigated with success the dangerous river of his own bir… once more set forth on a voyage of discovery into the land I floated on
You, going along the path, mosquito-doped, with no moon, the… a single orange eye unable to see what is beyond the capsule of your dim
The puppet of the wolf I have not made yet encloses my right hand: fur stubbles my wrists, a tongue, avid, carnivorous,
There is nothing to be afraid of, it is only the wind changing to the east, it is only your father the thunder your mother the rain
The moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage you stand in the centre of your ro… house, half-acre, square mile, isl… knowing at last how you got there,
Confess: it’s my profession that alarms you. This is why few people ask me to d… though Lord knows I don’t go out… I wear dresses of sensible cut
She has been condemned to death by… may escape this death by becoming… woman by marrying the hangman. But… time there is no hangman; thus the… There is only a death, indefinitel…
I would like to watch you sleeping… which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter
What should we have taken with us? We never could decide on that; or what to wear, or at what time of year we should make the journey
I am the heart of a murdered woman who took the wrong way home who was strangled in a vacant lot… who was shot with care beneath a t… who was mutilated by a crisp knife…
Living backwards means only I must suffer everything twice. Those picnics were already loss: with the dragonflies and the clear… What good did it do me to know