No “From the Vault” post this week. Instead, a recent draft of a new poem I’ve been working at.
THE TRAIL IS A TANGLED PLUMB LINE
-Frog Pond Trail, Halifax, NS (May 2011)
most days, you’d allow this deadfall’s a sloppy forgetting;
a worm-holed apologue of our letting ourselves off all too easy,
once more. the pond? it’s staid, sheer, and sure; a stern,
sheet-metalled backdrop for this trunk-mined strewn stage, save
the odd raindrop or mosquito’s hopped landing that pock-furrows
its near implacable brow, suggests a wry winking at the folly
we’ve wandered right into, cue perfect. we walk, here. still,
pea gravel tsk-tsks each scuffled new step, sighs a fine dust;
greys the laces you kneel – now and then – to bother, to cinch, to re-tie.