©
Marianne Paul
morning
on the St. Lawrence
new tin foil
granite
rolls out of the earth
like
a whale’s back
keel-line
in the sand
imprint of a turtle’s
dragging
tail
wake slips
into
a gentle parting of the ways
zebra-mussel
clarity magnifies river bed
to
settle into an island of its own
what’s one more among a thousand
deceptive,
this morning river flatness
fools
me into false solitude
then
a thump
against
the hull bass
throw
themselves
through the stillness
hang
across the morning canvas -a
Magritte-
disappear
the
river is alive with the thousand:
Hog and Dobs
Gordon
and Sugar
Mulcaster
and Grindstone
Princess
Charlotte and Psyche too
not
to forget Snake
low
amongst the bulrushes
later
in bed i feel weightless
nothing
beneath me but the sense
of
water
body
memory: a swelling and dipping
the
phantom sensation
of
mother river
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