December 16, 2011

Arthur Bull


You stood up and walked away,
taking your coffee. I stayed
to finish mine, not smiling,
remembering that late flight
over the Mackenzie Delta:
Look down: ten thousand
streams, all contrarimindedness
and contradiction—each little river
its own thought or circumstance,
each one saying—I was here first
deal with me. You can try and count
them as they cut through the green
unknown of the summer tundra.
No one has ever done it.
I know you have entered me
to the farthest blue capillary.
All you need to know is this:
The mighty Mackenzie River
flows into the Arctic Ocean.
It has nowhere else to go.

from Rattle #35, Summer 2011
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