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
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