Hamilton Bay
The maple trees around Hamilton Bay rust a consummate leisure. Rank, polluted waters mimic in reflection a city’s easy tedium. Grey towers stare back at themselves, vacant eyes interred in a looking glass. I do not know why seasons die before we savour them. What answer satisfies two who died and decompose beneath the rotting leaves, mongrels running here? It maybe takes a death to persevere, a death held high to rouse nativity. Even branches robbed of foliage embrace with moist serenity the blue of sky for leaves. How she perseveres to die like September and die again I cannot tell. The sun on her face, beside the bay, steals thinking from my body like a kiss. (from the book "Bones to Bury") |
