Meat
Cove, N.S. The
great road ends its winding way At
broken hooks of land
of sea
and I I
meet the sun but it unwinds On
shaded leaf, straight swordfish Sword, on fisherman out at see As
far from home as I
& yet Living
here all his life on blue & White-capped
waves rushing
in where They
may thru &
out elusive as a
Guillemot’s
red legs that leave behind Both
land & sea, as though for me alone Meat
Cove was stitched to yellow days In
which I peel a birch bark cloud & see Myself in August skies, also moving on. August
1983 [Published in Prairie Falcon. © 1989 by Jim
Cohn.]
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