Sundance Canyon


Canyon whispers run through a solitary walk

along the river leading away from Banff townsite

here, in the middle of June

I am not (like them) made of stone

I do not live like one of these trees

I am more than the breath of wind—

closer (I am) to water bordering light

flashing past all one can see, or know…




Complex Designs

I admit, now and then,

to letting disappointment glisten

like dew on my temples

over “the one that got away”

—a web of singular drops of water

reveal complex attempts to secure a meal

the instinct of a spider betrayed—

a famished, unrepentant creature,

I hold no loss too small to regret.