The Ski-Jump

I stole Milne's painting, now in photographic film, splayed on a foreign screen, in a landscape void of life, and hey- I'm not too proud of it. But who would be? of an image within an image, a facsimile of vision, and a breath of death, exhumed with other bones: those scattered remains of Great Canadian Poets, and I shudder at the name- "A Country North of Belleville…" untouched on the page, and never the same, as uncovered by that beer-drinkin' man, stumbling through the trees like trylobites, like bones, like soft outlines of fading beige turning brown as long fallen leaves, entombed under a siege of snow, expressed, under careful scrutiny almost a century ago