lake, serious
a ship to shore; constructed
out a tin man, last seen reading
an elementary curve
as you would have it; sleep
a starry tide,
four limbs & breath,
who lives, or lives
an island, candle wash
of moving & non-moving parts
*
of paradise; shape is just
a window, passing
oath of watching form
of husbands, wives
an anchor tourniquet, suckled
in a wakeful state,
the glassy sand
I’m walking down
your hall, arm of
this borrowed shirt
the sky invented; hours red
& orange-pink
& smoky-black; this husky voice,
lake, impression
curled, an underside; these swans,
both real & plastic
overlapping trees for miles
fountain, would you; island,
island, don’t look up
sometimes you’re the sandbar
& some, the water’s edge
green image, river, ahead
a span of richness
overgrown, at once
each possible sound
skinny legs & spread,
he planned for eons
*********************************
Born in Ottawa, Canada’s glorious capital city, rob mclennan currently lives in Ottawa. The author of more than twenty trade books of poetry, fiction and non-fiction, his most recent titles are the poetry collections A (short) history of l. (BuschekBooks, 2011), grief notes: (BlazeVOX [books], 2011), Glengarry (Talonbooks, 2011), kate street (Moira, 2011) and 52 flowers (or, a perth edge) (Obvious Epiphanies, 2010), and a second novel, missing persons (2009). An editor and publisher, he runs above/ground press, Chaudiere Books (with Jennifer Mulligan), The Garneau Review (ottwater.com/garneaureview), seventeen seconds: a journal of poetry and poetics (ottawater.com/seventeenseconds) and the Ottawa poetry pdf annual ottawater (ottawater.com). He spent the 2007-8 academic year in Edmonton as writer-in-residence at the University of Alberta, and regularly posts reviews, essays, interviews and other notices at robmclennan.blogspot.com