The Meeting

This early morning
I walk a beach ravens guard,
waves break lower, muted,
overcast is higher,
wind colder.

Tide is out,
ravens are feeding
among clams trapped
in rocky sand,
sea stretches unbroken
from horizon to horizon,
a mystery of textured grey expanse,
inscrutable distance,
this border of land and sea.

A ray of sun breaks through
making a path across the heaving water.

There is a constant roaring,
sounds of leaking
from one world into another,
salt smells and winds
erasing lines,
magnetic flux that draws me
along its tumultuous edge.

As if by this,
or in a place like this,
a man might meet with God.

Old Ceremony

Wind is blowing rain forest leaves,
leaves full of faces,
talking busily among themselves,

spirits of Haida Gwaii
gone missing from their totems
gone pot latching in a storm,

they surround me,
ignoring my camping van,
the father I claim,

His “peace be still!”
sends them running
to their totems again.

Rain Forest Soul

North coastal rain forest leaves
spring well watered,
loam-blown and lush,
hang heavy with rain
in verdant slabs of varied green,
slabs, like heavy feathers
of raven or bald eagle,
slabs, their water-logged cries,
slabs, like hanging strips
of cedar bark,
ready for the weaving
over slabs of stone
carpeted plush with wet moss.

Rain forest trees
are old and thick,
giants of wisdom,
massive and tall,
remembering city buildings
built too close,
highlighted with generous slabs
of green moss growing,
green slabs quietly
for the city weeping,
like my rain forest soul.

Tidal Pull

Up early, the sea is quiet,
tidal moon has pulled
sea water back from his rocks;
seaweed and shells
all lie exposed.

I sit before you on this rock
in my own tidal pool
uncovered before you,
my broken shells
lying in seaweed
about my feet

Skipper, my sea dog,
sniffs eagerly about,
becoming familiar with his
new terrain

Now, as I write,
a great bald eagle
sails silently
only a few feet above
my head

Everywhere the clean smell
of salt and seaweed,
Oh, father, I am undone,
your eagle has gathered
me again under his wings.

To Queen Charlotte Islands

I

Sailing west toward open sea,
clouds pile on horizon,
vapourous mountains,
sliced by horizontal sweeps of mist,
majestic thunderheads
above and through them;

dead ahead, swells
lift and drop this labouring ship,
summer sun breaks through,
wind is still,
scattered fishing boats,
lone wolves,
hunt schools
of migrating salmon;

a short, fat, lighthouse
sleeps on his rock
in the sun.

II

Now, everywhere you look,
the horizon is a long
thin line.
The ship slowly
rises and falls
on nearly imperceptible
swells.

Dry land is now
only a memory,
no sight of it
anywhere.
All of earth I see
has been flooded.

Orcas are sounding around us,
dressed to kill,
in tuxedos of black and white

The earth is claimed
by cavorting clans
of hungry whales.