CITY OF ANGELS|
Like, the hot air warps light
as rain or a phantom sea rising above the sand.
Where the low-throated boom of shifting dunes
or the red sudden brilliance
of a vermilion flycatcher put to flight
Seems oddly natural.
Boundaries disappear & the tracks of a caribou
could as easily be the tracks of a lion or a dinosaur.
Except there are no caribou.
One day near Mount Assiniboine I went across the desert
just to stare into the Great Slave Aqueduct & recount
a litany of names connected by sweat & steel:
The Slave River flowing into the Peace, the Peace joining the
Contrast the snaking pit of cool, dark water with