Meat Cove, N.S.

 

The great road ends its winding way

At broken hooks of land     of sea     and I

I meet the sun but it unwinds

On shaded leaf, straight swordfish

Sword, on fisherman out at see

As far from home as I     & yet

Living here all his life on blue &

White-capped waves     rushing in     where

They may     thru & out     elusive as a

Guillemot’s red legs that leave behind

Both land & sea, as though for me alone

Meat Cove was stitched to yellow days

In which I peel a birch bark cloud & see

Myself in August skies, also moving on.

 

 

August 1983

 

 

[Published in Prairie Falcon.

© 1989 by Jim Cohn.] 

 

 

APPEARS IN

Prairie Falcon
(North Atlantic Books, 1989)