poetry
Downriver (Dorwin Falls, Rawdon, Quebec)
by Brian Campbell
Here, downriver from roaring sheets of foam that pound and leap over spray-blasting rock curve, curl, sidewind round a bend the current levels, sinews, overlaps, spreading wide in deepening hush.
The boulders, sharp-hewn hefts like dice once tossed by a giant's hand have landed on this shore grown sprigs between — spruce, oak, fifteen metres tall.
(The I that settles and observes — oxygen alacrity released by falls — feels light on this lichened rock)
A stump, castle of crenellated bark, meadow of moss in its hollow top, spreads round, roots wrapping over roots, fused together. Ants travelling the esker highways.
Now an antenna, giant compound eye pulls its long breathing boat body over an ironwood escarpment … but one rear catapult that bends, unbends, viridian cantilever, pink hole in the armour where the other grasshopper leg must have been. Wings whirr, up it flies, lands in the meadow. Green shoots tremble. Rights itself. Crawls on the rampart wall.
Wounded survivor.
(This I only feels light, I can tell by that survivor, pain in its side so much my own)
Eddies swirl round polished rock.
Flies whirl infinities in the blinding hush