#CanadianWriters
Two voices took turns using my eyes: One had manners, painted in watercolours, used hushed tones when speaking
My shadow said to me: what is the matter Isn’t the moon warm enough for you why do you need
All those times I was bored out of my mind. Holding the log while he sawed it. Holding the string while he measured, boar… distances between things, or pound…
In that country the animals have the faces of people: the ceremonial cats possessing the streets the fox run
An other sense tugs at us: we have lost something, some key to these things which must be writings and are locked against us
i The children on the lawn joined hand to hand go round and round each arm going into
In the burned house I am eating b… You understand: there is no house,… yet here I am. The spoon which was melted scrapes… the bowl which was melted also.
Those whose houses were burned burned houses. What else ever happ… once you start? While the roofs plunged into the root-filled cellars,
It was taken some time ago. At first it seems to be a smeared print: blurred lines and grey flec… blended with the paper;
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
Whether he will go on singing or not, knowing what he knows of the horror of this world: He was not wandering among meadows all this time. He was down there
In the secular night you wander ar… alone in your house. It’s two-thir… Everyone has deserted you, or this is your story; you remember it from being sixteen…
The body dies little by little the body buries itself joins itself to the loosened mind, to the black…
i Behind glass in Mexico this clay doll draws its lips back in a snarl; despite its beautiful dusty shawl,
The bronze clock brought with such care over the sea, which ticked like the fat slow hea… of a cedar, of a grandmother, melted and its hundred years