Lines of Embarkation
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I am a coast person
      whose only interest in the sea is definition.
Ragged at the edges of this flat form.
Blue & pink penetrate
      to breed a colony of cattle stuck knee-deep in the mud.
It appears natural. This process.
What is brutely labelled destiny or weather.
& nothing remains aside from bodies
      bloated stubborn with death
            & nowhere to dig a hole or mark a grave
                  as survivors battle each other
            with hooves & teeth
      for a patch of dry land.

      The Chilcotin & Thompson feed the mighty Fraser flushing
      an estimated 2.2 billion tons of silt annually through the
      country from as far away as any mountains we might
      conceive: Coast, Purcell, Selkirk, Monashee, Cariboo &
      Rockieschoking the Strait of Georgia with thousands of
      soon-to-disappear alluvial islands.

Impossible to keep an updated map
      or prevent the liquid shift of landscape.
When one place sinks easily into another.
Name it.
In bold, black letters.
That city dangling at the mouth of that river.