Sunday, December 06, 2009

montréal, decembre 2008

Photos above taken in Montréal, early December 2008 (right 'round this time last year, to be precise) ... ice storm. Funny how things are unearthed.

au coin d’hutchison & lajoie

you said: we’re in montréal, &

it’s snowing! not côte des neiges,

but mile-end, unlost now

in a neighbourhood of white.

parapets fog-veiled, muffled sky

falling down, a soft shy

rabbit down, translucent

boulangerie window beacon

beckoning on past lajoie & up –

je t’ai dit : quand le ciel est gris,

tes yeux sont plus bleus

& plus lucides – stop at the

épicerie, our pockets full of

clementines, & my hands, they

are full of your hands as the street

pulls us past a sculpture garden

frozen to the tracks, icy bicycle

sarcophagi, then a pigeon whirlwind,

like grey flakes upward flying,

a shivering drunken choreography

in the wind. we follow home

the dark coattails of the hasidim,

flitting winter moths in a haze

of soggy pollen, seeking window light.

* * *

late at night, an ice storm.

chimes of frozen juniper clink

on panes, basement bell choir

lulling us to sleep. outside

the snow falls, turns to rain

just above the tallest trees,

then ices on the ground, encases

the house. you reach out

for me in sleep, twining branches

of a frozen sumac, eyelashes

on my skin like snow brushed

from a railing, breath in my ear.

we change state. somewhere

we sublimated, went solid to air,

fell as snow & gathered here

& i am bursting. how do i

speak of the wild & quiet

beside you, when there is no more

space to be contained. &

hush, hush, do you hear it?

the icicles are singing – ascending,

descending the eaves like

a row of organ pipes, a hundred

roofs wide, making a remedy

for cryptic aching, a mouthful

of snow, the inner melting, trop

de la neige & de l’eau pour

un petit cœur assommé