I just received this. One of my best friends reading Fundy Lines along the Fundy Shore. Thank you so much.
Clarity is essential now:
the cycle of seasons,
the will and willingness to change.
Nothing can alter this flow:
rain and river, pond and sea,
the moon pull of the tide.
Each half-truth glimpsed
through the helmet’s slotted visor
as we charge in the lists,
knee against knee,
spear against spear,
knight against knight.
On the shore at the earth’s edge,
a new planet mapped in miniature:
each grain of sand, a speck of dust,
light upon the palm,
yet the whole beach, in unison,
weighing us up, weighting us down.
This world, immanent, renascent,
growing more solid
through its thinning veil of mist.
Freckled the water,
as the wild man sculls towards us,
over the waves, over the sand,
a fisher of what kind of men?
Was he without guilt,
he who cast that first stone?
The pond’s water-mask,
reconfigures in ever-widening circles
traveling who knows where
o lap at an unseen shore.
Light bends like a reed.
Liquid are the letters dancing,
distorted, on speckled waters
and the white sand undulating
under the rising waves.
Click here for Roger’s reading on Acorn.