land awakens
berry blue sky
once the colour
of pellets or ore
on the warm
tracks
burgundy slag
and the oil of cresote

grasses hush dry
from winter
preserved from
another year
and season

I remember the sound
of rain arriving in
breezes and wind
hissing
whispering in its
spirit voices
cold on my forehead
collecting in my brows
and eyelashs

the dark growing darker
in the huddled tamarack
beneath the sculpted
pines

the gravel road shinning
and the bike tires
rolling over stones
to home