Tadoussac
Halfway in
the stand of black birch
flecked red, pale mitts of leaf.
The battered stones
of a ruined cistern, a field
that once was tilled.
Then the drop
toward water, transformation
of path to plank,
a whirlpool down to shore.
Wooden turret
in an ocean of air.
O god the water.
Rippling prairie
of glass — the wind, the wind.
Unchanged world born of glaciers.
Distant white hides, scarred,
break surface: an arch
a swell of whaleskin.
Below water, out
of ears' reach a fierce
moan, the call.
The dipping into air
lung full of ocean —
mist, exhale — mingling
of sky and sea,
the insatiable darkness of the firs.